1945
by Freelancer
Summary: Grindelwald wasn't the only thing that made this year one to remember forever... Ch. 27: Albus makes a bold move, and Paul wonders what Tom is obsessively searching for. On indefinite hiatus.
1. In which Minerva gains a new ability

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. If it wasn't created by the great J.K. Rowling, it was inspired by her.  
  
SUMMARY: The most powerful dark wizard in centuries is defeated. A student and teacher commit the ultimate breach of protocol. A search for a piece of the school's past takes four individuals to the ends of the earth. Countless lessons in life, friendship, love, and Transfiguration are learned, and sometimes all at the same time. And much, much more... 1945 was certainly a year to remember.  
  
A/N: This story shares a universe with another one of my fics, 'The Play That Must Not Be Named'. The main things in here that are also in that one are the story behind Albus and Minerva's relationship and the character of Indira Nay. I thought it would be fun to try and develop these two things and others in a seperate fic, so here it is. Also, I tried to make this story a lot different from 'Obsessions', which is set at roughly the same time ('Obsessions' starts and ends earlier), but there's one thing I couldn't resist having in common: Armando Dippet's resemblance to Humphrey Bogart. I hope you understand. (I thought it was funny) You know those random minor characters you like for no reason at all? Dippet's one of those for me. ^_^ All right, that's it. You may read now.  
  
~~~  
  
Chapter One: In which Minerva gains a new ability  
  
- January 9, 1945 -  
  
~~~  
  
The first thing someone usually noticed about Minerva McGonagall was her eyes. From a distance, they appeared to be brown, but if one could stand her fierce, determined gaze long enough to get a good look at them, one would see that they were actually a very dark blue. The color was unique, but even more distinctive than that was the way they seemed to burn a hole in one's skin if one was out of her favor and unlucky enough to be in her line of sight at the same time. Minerva was eighteen years old, but could pass for twenty-five. She'd been able to pass for twenty-five since she was fourteen. Her friends often joked that when she actually reached twenty-five, she'd be mistaken for eighteen. She didn't think so because she hadn't acted like she was eighteen since she was ten. Maturity beyond her years was another noticeable trait about the seventh-year Gryffindor with the intense eyes. It came in handy when one was in a position of authority, like Head Girl of Hogwarts, or captain of a Quidditch team, like she was, but it could drive away those that weren't used to her mature, independent nature. She was a determined, hard worker who could keep her cool in almost any situation.  
  
Almost.  
  
"It's no use, Professor." Minerva slammed the thick book on the table in front of her shut and folded her arms across her chest in frustration. The sound echoed through the empty Transfiguration classroom, and when it died down, she said, "I can't do it."  
  
Albus Dumbledore gave his star student an encouraging smile. "Yes, you can," he assured her. "You know I never would have started training you if I didn't think you were capable."  
  
Minerva's dark blue eyes gave her instructor one of her famous don't-start-that-with-me looks. "We've been doing this since the beginning of the year, and I haven't sprouted so much as a whisker. I can't do it."  
  
Dumbledore's eyes were blue, too, but while Minerva's were the blue of midnight, his were the blue of dawn, and they sparkled with an ever-present mix of patience and curiosity behind his half-moon glasses. He and another Hogwarts teacher were the only ones she knew who could beat her in a staring contest. "Training to become an Animagus can take years, Minerva. We've been doing it for four and a half months. You need to give yourself more time."  
  
Minerva didn't reply. Magic had always come relatively easy to her, and combined with her strenuous work ethic, her magical ability rivaled that of wizards and witches many times her age. The only subject natural talent and hard work didn't give her results in was Divination, and that was because she believed the class was nothing but a hoax. She quickly discovered that she wasn't the only one, and on Dumbledore's advice, played along through the rest of the course. She ended up with the highest grade in the class, but hadn't learned a thing, which annoyed her to no end. Now, she was training to become an Animagus, and although she had been excited about it at first, her attitude now was very similiar to that of how she felt toward Divination.  
  
Dumbledore gave her a few moments to cool off, and when he saw that she wasn't going to respond, said, "Don't ever tell me you can't do something, Minerva. I know you better than that."  
  
A small smile cracked Minerva's face. "Except Divination."  
  
"Well, yes, Divination, but the ones who get the highest marks in that course are the ones who B.S. their way through it, and admit it, you had fun with it."  
  
"With it. Not in it." Her smile grew slightly wider. "You know, now that you mention it, it was kind of fun to think of all the different ways I could die."  
  
"And you died no less than four times a week, every week," he said. "Professor Eckersley thought you were the most brilliant Divination student he ever had."  
  
"Are you saying that because it's the truth or because you want to boost my confidence so we can get back to studying Animagi?"  
  
Dumbledore smiled, too. "A little bit of both, I suppose."  
  
"Fine." Minerva opened the book again and thumbed through the pages to find her spot. When she did, she read for a minute or so, then said, "All right, now here's what I just don't understand. It says that one must know in order to be. What does that mean?"  
  
"Perhaps they are suggesting that in order for you to become a cat, you must know what a cat thinks like."  
  
"But over here, it says that before one can know, one must be," Minerva said. "It's a paradox. In order to be, one must know, but before one can know, one must be."  
  
A twinkle appeared in Dumbledore's eye. "I think you may have just figured out the meaning of life, Minerva."  
  
"I'm still trying to figure out Animagi, Professor. Let's take things one step at a time."  
  
He did not reply verbally, but the knowing smile he gave her was all the response she needed.  
  
Minerva stared straight ahead for a few moments, then blinked. "Oh."  
  
"Are you ready?"  
  
She nodded. "I am."  
  
She stood up and walked a few steps away, all the while thinking, I am ready, I can do this. She stopped walking, and without turning back toward Dumbledore, said, "I am going to do this."  
  
Dumbledore smiled and nodded. Minerva's biggest, and, in his opinion, only fault was her lack of confidence in her own abilities. She knew she was powerful, but she would never be satisfied with anything less than the best every time. Desire for perfection was her only weakness, and he wondered if she would ever realize that. "I know you are, and now that you know it, too, you can do not only this, but anything."  
  
Minerva closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She tried to bring up every piece of information she had learned on becoming an Animagi in the last four and a half months. She thought about the animal she wanted to become, a cat. She had done all of this before, but now, she knew that the missing link between to know and to be was to become. That was what she had to realize on her own before she could perfom a successful transformation. It was time.  
  
When she opened her eyes, the room seemed much bigger than it had before. Everything was also clearer, and her senses of sight, hearing, smell, and touch were going into overdrive as they analyzed her surroundings. Her heart began pounding with excitment. She did it. She was an Animagus.  
  
Minerva transformed back into herself, and tears of happiness were streaming down her face. She was too overcome with elation to say anything. Dumbledore stood up and smiled proudly. "You did it," he said. "I always knew you would."  
  
Her face was starting to hurt from smiling. Two strides each brought them together into a triumphant embrace. "I am so proud of you," Dumbledore whispered as they hugged each other.  
  
"I couldn't have done it without your guidance," Minerva replied.  
  
Just then, a knock on the door was heard. "Come in," Dumbledore called, too overjoyed to ponder the possible consequences of being seen in such an intimate position with a student.  
  
The door opened, and a female voice said, "Professor Dumbledore, I-" She stopped talking, and what sounded like several books crashed to the floor, followed by the fluttering of loose paper and a shocked, "Oh, my."  
  
Dumbledore and Minerva immediately let go of each other. "Professor Nay," Dumbledore said, trying to avoid sounding guilty at having been caught stepping out of bounds. Minerva kept silent and took deep, slow breaths in an effort to calm her racing heart.  
  
Indira Nay was the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, head of Slytherin house, and the other person besides Dumbledore who could beat Minerva in a staring contest. At twenty-seven years of age, she was the youngest person on staff, but like Minerva, Indira was far beyond her years in her magical ability and maturity level. Everyone in the school respected her. The ones that didn't because they admired her skill and the way she handled things did because she scared them to death. For most, it was a mixture of both. Indira had another trait in common with Minerva - her eyes. From a distance, Indira also looked like she had brown eyes, but they were actually a very dark, intense green. And they were very, very angry.  
  
"Professor Nay, this is not what it looks like," Dumbledore said. It was all he could do to maintain his cool under her furious gaze. He wasn't afraid of Indira, but rather, afraid of what she might do to Minerva. He wanted to slap himself for not thinking before he gave his consent for the other professor to enter. Indira was a stickler for the rules, and something like this could get Minerva expelled if it was taken the wrong way.  
  
"Indeed." Indira's voice was soft and serious, as it always was, but the slight red tint to her deeply tanned skin betrayed her anger. "Explain."  
  
"Miss McGonagall just performed her first successful Animagus transformation," Dumbledore said. "I was congratulating her."  
  
"You were congratulating her," Indira said supsiciously, arching a thin, dark eyebrow. "It appeared to me as if she was returning your embrace, Professor Dumbledore."  
  
"Heat of the moment," was Dumbledore's calm reply. "Certainly you cannot think that an accomplishment of this caliber can be sufficiently congratulated by a smile and a nod."  
  
No one at Hogwarts had ever seen Albus Dumbledore lose his cool. No one had ever seen Indira Nay lose control of herself, either, and when a conflict occured between these two, the tension was enough to make anyone nearby snap. Minerva held her breath and silently prayed for it to be over soon.  
  
Indira knew Dumbledore and Minerva had stepped over the line, but becoming an Animagus was a big thing, and of course they would be overjoyed by her triumph. What frustrated her, though, was that even though she knew protocol had been broken, she couldn't prove if it was a one-time thing or if it went deeper than it looked. The worst thing that could happen for them was a slap on the wrist and a "don't let it happen again" speech from the headmaster. She believed the rules must be followed and anyone caught breaking them must be punished. They broke the rules, but there wasn't enough evidence to make their punishment harsh enough to stop them from doing it again.  
  
"Very well," she said. "You will both walk away unscathed this time, but I assure you that Professor Dippet will hear about this." She knelt down and began gathering the things she had dropped in her surprise upon entering the room. Once everything was in her arms, she walked over to them and handed Dumbledore a book. "Here's the book I borrowed from you last week. Thank you."  
  
"You're welcome, Professor Nay," Dumbledore said, taking the book from her.  
  
Indira wasn't biting. She gave both of them looks of warning, and left without saying a word.  
  
Dumbledore sighed and looked at the book in his hand. "I'd almost forgotten that I let her borrow this."  
  
Minerva felt it was safe to breathe again, and said, "Is she going to have me expelled?"  
  
He gave her a reassuring smile. "Of course not. Professor Nay is not the most pleasant individual to walk the halls of this school, but she is fair, and she knows the difference between celebrating a victory and fraternization." Dumbledore knew as well as Indira did that he and Minerva stepped far beyond the boundaries for what was considered an appropriate student-teacher relationship, but he was so proud of her for performing her first successful transformation that he was willing to take a few hits.  
  
Minerva wasn't convinced. "She said she was going to go to Professor Dippet."  
  
"And I am sure she will, but Professor Dippet is much more understanding than she is," Dumbledore replied. "I will speak to Professor Dippet as well and assume responsibility for... this."  
  
"I'm sorry," she said. She knew that it was just as much, if not more her fault than his, and she didn't like the idea of him taking all the blame, but she knew better than to try and reason with him when it came to things like this.  
  
"Let's not worry about it anymore," Dumbledore said. "You're an Animagus now. Doesn't that make you even the least bit happy?"  
  
She laughed and wiped at the wet stains on her cheeks left by her joyful tears. "Of course it does."  
  
~~~  
  
A/N: Indira may seem cold and heartless, but she's a good person deep down inside... really deep down inside. So what do you think? Want to see more? 


	2. In which Indira struggles with mixed fee...

~~~  
  
Chapter Two: In which Indira struggles with mixed feelings  
  
-About ten minutes later that same day-  
  
~~~  
  
After making her rounds, Indira Nay saw that she had a good half hour before the Slytherins had their nightly meeting in the house common room, so she decided that now was as good a time as ever to report the incident to the headmaster. Getting Dumbledore and/or Minerva in trouble was not her intent, and it never was. She did not tolerate rule-breaking from anyone, under any circumstances, but this time, it wasn't just about the rules. She was concerned about the welfare of the offenders, and that if something wasn't done about what happened, it might occur again, and who knew where that would lead. She also wanted to make sure it stayed under wraps, known only to herself, Dumbledore, Minerva, and the headmaster. Minerva had been romantically involved with a Slytherin boy named Paul Garrett for a little over a year now, and Paul was not known for being civil when something disrupted his perfect world. Indira was worried about what he might do to Minerva if he ever found out. She doubted that the hug was anything more than a platonic, congratulatory gesture, but Paul might not.  
  
The password "glow worm" let Indira past the statue of the gargoyle concealing the entrance to the staircase that led up to the headmaster's office, and she began her ascent. She hoped Dippet was up there. The last time she needed to speak with him, he was teaching a group of first-years how to play Quidditch; a perfectly legitimate activity, but not one the headmaster usually engaged in.  
  
Indira reached the top of the staircase, walked over to the door, and gave it three swift, precise knocks. A second or two passed, and then came Armando Dippet's voice, bading her come in. She opened the door and stepped inside. The headmaster, an alumni from Ravenclaw house and former Astronomy instructor, was sitting behind his desk, writing on a piece of parchement. He looked up from his work and smiled politely at her. "Good evening, Professor Nay," he said. "What can I do for you?"  
  
"I need to report an incident," Indira replied.  
  
Dippet cringed. "Have Moody, Riddle, and Garrett enchanted the suits of armor to dance through the halls during class again?" he asked.  
  
"No, thank Merlin," she said. "This concerns Professor Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall."  
  
"Minerva McGonagall?" he repeated. "I would say that her only problem is getting involved with Paul Garrett - no offense to any of your Slytherins, of course-"  
  
"None taken," she interrupted. "I don't like him, either. Anyway, getting back to Professor Dumbledore and Miss McGonagall. A few minutes ago, I went by Dumbledore's office to return a book I borrowed from him last week, and when I went in, he and Miss McGonagall were..."  
  
"Were what, Indira?"  
  
"They were hugging each other," Indira said. "Professor Dippet, that sort of activity between a teacher and student is unacceptable, and they should be rebuked accordingly."  
  
Dippet wasn't sure what to think. He was well aware of the Transfiguration instructor's frienship with his star student, but he saw no problem with it as long as it remained at the strictly platonic level. Neither one of them were the type that purposely broke rules. On the other hand, though, there was always the chance that Indira had a good reason for telling him this, and he had a feeling that reason was Paul Garrett. Paul was a prefect and popular among the students, but he wasn't always the nicest person around. He was, most people felt, overly possessive of Minerva and took extreme measures when he felt there was a threat to their relationship. If, on the off chance that the hug was more than platonic, and even if it was, Paul's reaction would not be pleasant.  
  
"I will speak to Albus," Dippet finally decided. "Will that suffice?"  
  
Indira nodded. "Thank you."  
  
"You're welcome. Anything else?"  
  
"Nothing comes to mind, sir."  
  
He smiled at her. "Very well, then. Thank you, Indira." He sometimes wished she would ease up off the formality. Indira wasn't one of his favorite people, but he had a feeling that there was a good person beneath her stern exterior and dark past. However, no matter how often he tried to see if it really existed, she remained as serious and formal as ever. He knew her weakness, knew her secrets, but he promised himself long ago that he would only use that as a last resort. There was no telling what it would do to her.  
  
Indira suddenly looked mildly surprised, and she cocked her head to the side and peered closely at him.  
  
"What?" Dippet asked, confused.  
  
"Nothing," Indira replied, her expression returning to normal. "Just... something I overheard some students say a few days ago."  
  
"And what was that?"  
  
Dippet couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw Indira's cheeks flush red for a moment. "That you look like Humphrey Bogart," she mumbled, then turned around and headed for the exit.  
  
Humphrey Bogart? He'd heard of the American Muggle film star, but never thought they bore any resemblance. Then again, one was usually not aware of this sort of thing until another pointed it out. "Do I really look like Humphrey Bogart?" Dippet inquired.  
  
Indira stopped at the door and glanced back at him. "Yes," she answered, and left.  
  
Dippet watched her go, then said to himself, "Humphrey Bogart." He shrugged and went back to work.  
  
~~~  
  
"... but Professor Dippet has been around longer, so it would actually be more logical to say that Humphrey Bogart looks like him."  
  
Those were the first words Indira heard upon entering the Slytherin common room. The person that had spoken them was a sixth-year named Emily Donati, seated on a couch between two other girls, sixth-year Bianca Netzel and seventh-year Teresa Beck. "I don't know," said Teresa. "You could say that, but he just looks like Humphrey Bogart now. He might not have when he was that age."  
  
Bianca spotted the head of their house walking in there direction, and said, "Let's ask Professor Nay. Professor!"  
  
"Yes, Miss Netzel?" Indira asked.  
  
"Does Professor Dippet look like Humphrey Bogart or does Humphrey Bogart look like Professor Dippet?"  
  
Indira wondered when it would stop. The students had been going on about this for so long that she was starting to wonder herself. "Neither," she responded, hoping it would bring an end not only to the subject around the school, but her thoughts on it as well. "Professor Dippet and Humphrey Bogart both look like themselves."  
  
The girls blinked and exchanged glances. Emily spoke for all three of them. "What?"  
  
"Never mind," Indira said. "Besides, I don't think Professor Dippet would appreciate being compared to a Muggle."  
  
The professor excused herself and went over to a bookshelf to organize the titles - the students always messed them up when they took them out for studying - but couldn't help overhearing the girls' conversation. "Whatever," Bianca said. "I still think he's handsome."  
  
"Which one?" Teresa asked, smiling a little. "Professor Dippet or Humphrey Bogart?"  
  
"Both," Bianca replied, and the three girls burst into a fit of giggles.  
  
Indira rolled her eyes. They just had to have this conversation now, just after she finished speaking to the headmaster about a possible attraction between a teacher and a student. Now these girls were talking about how much another faculty member resembled one of the most handsome men in the world. Muggle or not, Humphrey Bogart had a lot going for him in the visual department. She almost slapped herself as she realized that she was practically obsessing over the resemblance between Dippet and Bogart and just how attractive the headmaster really was. Would it ever stop?  
  
Indira's thoughts were soon shifted to other things, but when they were, she almost wished that she could go back to thinking about Dippet and Bogart. Three students had just entered the room - seventh-years Tom Riddle and Alastor Moody and sixth-year Paul Garrett. Tom, Alastor, and Paul were rarely seen more than ten feet apart. All three were hugely popular among the students; Tom was Head Boy, Alastor was the captain of Slytherin's Quidditch team, and Paul was a prefect. Outside of Slytherin house, the three were almost always seen in the middle of a large group of friends, which usually included their girlfriends as well. Paul was dating Minerva McGonagall, Tom was involved with a sixth-year girl Ravenclaw prefect named Kelsie Appanitis, and Alastor had been with a seventh-year Gryffindor girl named Arabella Figg for almost three years. Indira rather liked Alastor, but she didn't care so much for Tom, and liked Paul even less. The two of them were funny and well-liked by the students, and Tom was a school hero besides, but Indira didn't trust either of them. She didn't know what it was about them, but they gave her the feeling that they would be the kind of students that gave Slytherin house a bad name. There was already one of those lurking around in the world. She quickly pushed that thought aside. The memories were too painful.  
  
"Hi, everybody," the charismatic Tom said, smiling at all the occupants of the Slytherin common room. It amounted to about fourteen people in all, including Indira and the three boys that had entered. "What's going on?"  
  
"Hey, Riddle," said Colin Davison, a fifth-year, who was playing chess with another fifth-year named John Byron. "Just waiting for everyone to get here."  
  
Paul whispered something to Alastor. Tom went over to help John with the chess game, since he was losing badly.  
  
"Hi, Professor Nay," Alastor said, greeting the head of their house.  
  
"Hello, Mr. Moody," Indira replied, not looking up from her work at the bookshelf. "Mr. Garrett."  
  
"I told you," Paul mumbled to Alastor, thinking Indira couldn't hear him. "Did you hear that? She hates me."  
  
"She doesn't hate you, Paul," Alastor whispered back. "Now knock it off."  
  
"Whatever," Paul grumbled, and walked over to Tom, John, and Colin.  
  
Alastor was right. Indira didn't hate Paul, but she did strongly dislike him. She wasn't quite sure exactly when it started; she'd become a teacher his second year, and her contempt for him set in soon after. He was smart, but arrogant and insubordinate. He gave her a lot of crap her first two years at Hogwarts, and although he never made her snap, he certainly came close. Paul backed off a little bit when she became head of Slytherin house his fifth year, but their relationship still hadn't improved at all. Then, Minerva came into the picture. They had been together for over a year, and even after all this time, Indira still didn't see what a promising, intelligent person like her saw in someone like him. She could do much better, and Indira could only pray that she would.  
  
But not with Albus Dumbledore.  
  
~~~  
  
About half an hour later, Dumbledore decided to stop by the headmaster's office to see if Indira had done any damage. "I was wondering when you would come by," Dippet said when Dumbledore came in. "I've been expecting you."  
  
"I bet," was Dumbledore's reply. "Look, I don't know what Indira told you, but-"  
  
"Relax," Dippet interrupted. "I know you better than that. Please just do your best to make sure that it doesn't happen again or that Paul Garrett finds out."  
  
Dumbledore began to feel uneasy. He hadn't even thought about Minerva's boyfriend. Paul was the only student at Hogwarts that had ever intimidated him, but he didn't dare let anyone know it. There was no telling what that would lead to.  
  
Dippet continued. "And don't worry about Indira. I'm sure she's just having a bad day."  
  
Dumbledore felt a smile fighting at the corners of his mouth, and was unable to hide it. "She must have a lot of those."  
  
Dippet was a little more succesful at holding his smile in. "Remember, she is a colleague."  
  
"Yes, I know. I just... I just don't understand her most of the time."  
  
"You're not the only one."  
  
Dumbledore sighed and glanced around the room, letting his eyes linger on no one thing for too long. His wandering gaze quickly returned to the headmaster. "What do you think of her?"  
  
"I'm trying not to."  
  
Another smile worked its way across his face. "Armando Dippet, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you've got a bit of a soft spot for her."  
  
Dippet picked up his quill and began writing on a piece of parchment on his desk in front of him. "Good thing you know better, eh?" 


	3. In which Minerva breaks up with her boyf...

A/N: I'm baaaaack! Until tomorrow, that is; then I'm going away for another week. ^_^ I've already written chapter six, and I'll type and post that when I get back. In the meantime, enjoy this. An allusion to 'Macbeth' and one of my favorite lines from 'Obsessions' are in here. Ten points to you if you can find both!  
  
~~~  
  
Chapter Five: In which Minerva breaks up with her boyfriend  
  
- February 8, 1945 -  
  
~~~  
  
Once Madam Tyburski was certain Minerva's internal injuries were under control, she was released from the hospital wing. She received a standing ovation from her fellow Gryffindors upon entering her house's common room. All of them had been anxious to celebrate the victory over Ravenclaw, but it felt wrong to do so without the team captain present. As a result, she was showered with all of their pent-up excitement, and didn't get two steps from the portrait hole before Kyle Thresher and Martin Blumethal grabbed her and lifted her onto their shoulders. The cheers that followed her entrance were deafening.  
  
One person, however, was not in the mood for celebrating - Minerva. "Put me down," she said sternly to Martin and Kyle. "This is not dignified."  
  
They complied. Kyle asked her what was wrong, but she ignored him and took off at a brisk pace toward the stairs to the girls' dormitory. The common room was silent. No one spoke until she was gone, and then, everyone began talking at once.  
  
"What was that about?"  
  
"Is she all right?"  
  
"I told you not to do that, Martin; her ribs are probably still hurting."  
  
"Did we not win after all?"  
  
"What's her problem?"  
  
"Did Dumbledore get sacked?"  
  
"Shut up, Lyle."  
  
"Maybe she's just tired."  
  
"Maybe she's just being Minerva."  
  
"All right, that is ENOUGH!" That voice belonged to Arabella, and the common room fell silent at once. Arabella looked around, then continued. "I will speak to her," she said quietly. "If she gives me permission to disclose whatever information I receive from her, then I will by all means let you know what is on her mind. If not, then I suggest you all refrain from bringing this incident up ever again. Thank you."  
  
Without another word, she turned around and went up the stairs.  
  
~~~  
  
Arabella found Minerva sitting on her bed, reading what looked to be a book on advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts. If she noticed her best friend come in, she was ignoring her. Arabella watched Minerva for almost a full minute, then said, "What, not learning enough in Professor Evil's class, so you have to do extra studying on your own time?"  
  
Her comment would have made Minerva smile had she not been in such a bad mood. "No," she said, and closed the book. "I may not like Nay, but after Professor Dumbledore, she's the best teacher in the school, and I've learned a lot from her." She sighed, glanced down at the book, and continued. "I don't know if I've ever told you this, but I'm seriously considering becoming an Auror."  
  
"An Auror?" Arabella repeated. She walked over to Minerva's bed and sat down next to her. "That's great! Have you talked to Alastor? You know, he's been thinking about that a lot, too, and so have Tom and Paul and-"  
  
She stopped talking; Minerva's face had twisted into a grimace at the mention of Paul. Arabella had a strong feeling that he was the reason she was acting like this. "All right, what did he do?"  
  
Minerva folded her arms across her chest, waited a few seconds, then said bitterly, "He called it luck."  
  
"The Quidditch game?" Arabella guessed.  
  
Minerva nodded, and angry tears stung the corners of her dark blue eyes. "He said the win was just luck, that Ravenclaw wasn't on top of their game, and that they're not a good team anyway-"  
  
"That's ridiculous!" Arabella cried. "What ground does he have to stand on for that one? Ravenclaw would have beaten them if Ryan hadn't finally knocked that Bludger in the right direction at the right time! THAT was luck!"  
  
"That's what Alastor said," said Minerva. "But Paul just laughed." She brushed at her eyes. Then, in a voice so soft it could barely be heard, she said, "I'm going to break up with him."  
  
"What?" Arabella said, not quite sure she had heard correctly.  
  
"I'm going to break up with him," Minerva said, a little louder. "He's an arrogant, lustful, self-centered bastard, and I won't deal with his bullshit anymore."  
  
"What about Tom and Alastor?" Arabella asked. "You know how close they are to Paul - well, Tom more than Alastor. Are you going to renounce your friendship with them, too?"  
  
"Of course not," Minerva said. "If they're really my friends - and I suspect they are - they'll still remain so after I break up with Paul."  
  
"Well, what about Paul himself? Wouldn't it be awkward if you're still in the same group of friends? I don't think you can get the others to turn against him, too."  
  
"I never said I was turning against Paul."  
  
"You just called him an arrogant, lustful, self-centered bastard."  
  
"I know."  
  
Arabella sighed. "You confuse me."  
  
"Well, what would you advise?" Minerva asked. "Staying with him after all he's done? I know what he wants, and he's not going to get it from me. I can't believe it took me so long to see him for what he really is."  
  
Arabella sighed again and nodded. "You're right, as usual," she said. "So, when are you going to do it?"  
  
"First thing in the morning."  
  
~~~  
  
- February 9, 1945 -  
  
~~~  
  
Paul Garret couldn't believe his ears. "You're what?"  
  
"You heard me," Minerva said. "I'm not going to put up with you anymore. It's over. Sorry, Paul."  
  
One of the students in the crowd that had gathered around them outside the entrance to the Great Hall started snickering. "Shut up!" Paul snapped at him. His attention then went back to Minerva. "I don't believe this. You can't break up with me."  
  
She nodded. "Oh, yes, I can, and I am. How many times do I have to tell you? We're finished, and that's that. Good-bye." She turned around and started to walk away.  
  
Paul was seething with anger. Never before in his life had he been publicly humiliated like this. She was not going to get away with this. He leapt forward and seized her by the wrist. "One week," he hissed. "One week, and you'll come crawling back!"  
  
"Get over yourself," Minerva replied, jerking her hand away. "I have."  
  
"You think you're so strong, Minerva, but I know you better than that," Paul said. "Beneath that tough exterior, you're made of glass, and you're going to break."  
  
She shook her head. "No, I'm not."  
  
"You need me. You're nothing without me."  
  
"I became everything I am without your help. I've never needed you to get ahead. That's not why I went out with you, and I can only hope that's not why you went out with me."  
  
He narrowed his eyes. "You're going to regret this. When you come to your senses, I won't come back."  
  
She let out a fake gasp of excitement. "Really? You promise?"  
  
Paul did not have a lot of self-control as it was, and now, it was completely gone. He lifted his hand and struck Minerva across the face as hard as he could. The crowd gasped as she stumbled backwards, and gasped again when she recovered her balance and planted a surprisingly good left hook on his mouth in retaliation. It would have gotten uglier had a furious voice not stopped them then.  
  
"Garrett! McGonagall!"  
  
Students in the crowd pulled Paul and Minerva away from each other as Indira Nay stormed up to them. Indira was never in a good mood, but even a bad day looked good compared to this. Her face was flushed, her entire body was shaking, and it appeared that it was taking a lot of effort to keep her clenched fists at her sides. Her dark green eyes were more piercing than usual, and Minerva thought she saw tears of rage forming in their corners. None present had ever seen her so close to losing her composure.  
  
Indira gave Paul her full attention. He had his hand pressed to his lip to stop the flow of blood. "One hundred points from Slytherin," Indira said in a soft, trembling voice. "You will be serving detention every night for the remainder of the year. You are hereby removed from Slytherin's Quidditch team and stripped of prefect status."  
  
Paul glared at her, then gestured toward Minerva and said, "What about her?"  
  
"Oh, right," Indira said, as though she had forgotten about the other person involved in the fight. She glanced at Minerva. "Twenty points to Gryffindor." Her attention went back to Paul. "I am going to do everything in my power to get you expelled. Get out of my sight."  
  
Paul seemed to be debating whether he should kill Minerva or Indira first. He gave both of them equally angry looks, then stomped away, muttering something about getting revenge somehow.  
  
Once Paul was gone, Indira turned to Minerva. Minerva was expecting an equally harsh punishment, but it did not come. In a surprisingly gentle voice, Indira asked, "Are you all right?"  
  
"I'm fine," Minerva said. She wasn't hurt; just a little shaken up. Paul wasn't as strong as he looked, and her face no longer hurt from when he had struck her.  
  
She hadn't been seeing things; those were tears, and they fell down Indira's cheeks when she closed her eyes. "Good," she said. "Excuse me." She walked away at a rapid pace, wiping at her eyes as she went.  
  
Arabella forced her way through the shocked crowd over to Minerva. "What just happened?" she asked.  
  
Minerva shook her head. "I don't know."  
  
Alastor joined them next, followed closely by Tom and Kelsie Appanitis. "Who was that and what did she do with Professor Nay?" Alastor asked. "I've never seen her act like that!"  
  
Tom was more angry than surprised. "She can't do that!" he said. "He shouldn't have hit you, Min, but she overdid it."  
  
"Stripped of prefect status," Kelsi said, and shuddered. "Probably even expelled!"  
  
"He won't be expelled," said Tom. "Dippet's an idiot, but he knows enough not to take Nay seriously. She's crazy and he knows it."  
  
"Hang on a minute," said Minerva. "Dippet's not an idiot. He's brilliant. Or have you already forgotten everything we learned in his class?" She, Tom, Arabella, and Alastor had Dippet for Astronomy their first year; he became headmaster the year after that.  
  
"He's a brilliant astronomer," said Tom, "but as a headmaster, he's helpless. Remember those attacks two years ago? He couldn't stop those. I had to do it."  
  
"Not before someone died," Minerva replied.  
  
"Well, more people would have died if I hadn't caught that stupid oaf Hagrid," Tom snapped. "He should never have been at Hogwarts, anyway."  
  
Alastor took it upon himself to step in before things got ugly. "We should really get to class," he said, placing himself between Tom and Minerva. "Min, Ari, we'll see you in Herbology."  
  
Minerva and Arabella said good-bye to the others and began the walk to Charms.  
  
~~~  
  
After Charms, the seventh-year Gryffindors had Defense Against the Dark Arts with Hufflepuff. As walked toward the classroom, Minerva wondered if Indira had recovered from the incident that morning. She still couldn't believe her teacher had acted that way. It was not unlike Indira to give outrageously harsh punishments, but Paul had received enough for three people. On top of that, all Indira did to her was give points to Gryffindor. What was the reasoning behind that? And why did she have such a problem with it, anyway? Minerva knew the incident would have made any teacher unhappy, but she couldn't think of anyone who would strip someone of prefect status and threaten expulsion - and a student of her own house, too. Minerva figured it must have struck a nerve with Indira, but she didn't think anyone knew why, and if they did, they wouldn't tell.  
  
They were in for another surprise when they entered the classroom. Sitting behind the desk was not Indira Nay, but Armando Dippet. Questions started immediately, but Dippet called for silence and waited until everyone had arrived to start answering them. "Professor Nay is not feeling well, so I will be teaching her class today," he explained. "Please take out your books and read pages one hundred eighty-four to one hundred eighty-nine. We will discuss the material once everyone has finished."  
  
Minerva opened her book and glanced at the pages. That was the introduction on the section about the rising and falling of dark wizards throughout history. She'd read it a few weeks as research for a project she was doing in History of Magic about dark wizards during the Renaissance period. She strongly desired to speak with Dippet, and now would probably be her only chance for quite some time. After debating it for a few moments, she gave in to her emotions and walked up to the front desk.  
  
Dippet did not look surprised to see her. "I thought you might want to talk," he said. "Out in the hall, please."  
  
Minerva followed him out into the hall, then asked, "Is Paul going to be expelled?"  
  
"I don't know," Dippet said. "This is a very serious incident, and expulsion will be taken into consideration. The ultimate decision is mine, but it is necessary to hear all the sides of the case."  
  
"I don't think he should be expelled," Minerva said. She had been thinking about that all during Charms. Expulsion was not only removal from school; it was exile from the entire wizarding world, and as bad as Paul was, she didn't think he deserved that. "Anyway, part of it's my fault. I hit him back, and I was also sort of, well... provoking him. Besides, I think Professor Nay punished him enough."  
  
"You may think that, but she doesn't. She is pushing for expulsion and assault charges."  
  
"But he hit me, not her."  
  
"Yes, I know; I explained to her that filing charges was your call, but I don't know if you would be able to make much of a case, as you did hit him, too..."  
  
"I don't understand, sir," Minerva said. "I did more damage to Paul than he did to me, and she gave points to Gryffindor. It was like I did something good."  
  
"It was not wrong for you to defend yourself-"  
  
"But it was wrong for me to humiliate him in public and expect him not to lose control," Minerva interrupted. "Professor Nay should have taken points for my stupidity."  
  
"So you believe Mr. Garrett should be allowed to remain in school?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Dippet nodded. "Very well."  
  
A question was forming in the back of Minerva's mind, and she couldn't fight back her desire to ask it. "Uh, sir?" she said. "You said Professor Nay isn't feeling well. Forgive me if I'm asking too much, but why is that?"  
  
Dippet hesitated before answering, trying to figure out a way to tell the truth without revealling it. "I ran into her as she was leaving the scene, and she told me what happened," he said. "She did not seem in a fight state to teach, so I persuaded her to let me take her place for today while she recovered." Ordered was more like it; the last thing Indira wanted was for anyone to think something had made her lose control. "There are few things in this world that can make Professor Nay crack, and physical abuse is one of them."  
  
Minerva was about to ask him how he knew that, but before she could, he said, "Well, they should be done with that reading by now. Shall we go back inside?"  
  
He wasn't asking, he was telling, and she complied. They went back inside, and she took her seat next to Arabella in the second row. Dippet walked up to the front of the classroom. "Is everyone finished?" he asked.  
  
A chorus of yeses echoed through the room.  
  
Dippet nodded in approval. "Good," he said. "Now, for discussion. Dark wizards - and witches - have always been a threat, and probably always will be. There is generally a period of peace between uprisings, lasting as long as five hundred years or as short as ten or twenty. Does anyone know which dark wizard had the longest reign of terror?"  
  
Minerva's hand went into the air, and Dippet called on her. "Majken Locke, who terrorized Europe for almost seventy years before being defeated by Merlin."  
  
"Correct," Dippet said. "Does anyone know a way dark wizards come to power? Mr. Nambu?"  
  
Michael Nambu from Hufflepuff lowered his hand and answered the question. "They come off as a bringer of peace and order, revealling their true intentions only to those closest to them. They use their good-natured exterior to get themselves into a high place and/or get followers, and usually, by the time someone realizes what they really are, it's too late."  
  
"That's one way," said Dippet. "There are others, but that is the most common, and it is often difficult to see who is the innocent flower and who is the serpent beneath."  
  
If Minerva hadn't known he was making an allusion to 'Macbeth', she would have wondered if he was implying something about the students in Slytherin house. Perhaps it was both.  
  
"It can take years before it is revealed how evil someone is," Dippet continued. "For instance, about a hundred years ago, a Chinese wizard named Xiang Sae-Yin killed over a thousand people, both wizard and Muggle, before anyone realized who he was. And I bet you anything that thirty years ago, no one would have believed one of the most powerful dark wizards in history had just been elected Minister of Magic."  
  
A murmer ran through the class. Clearly, most of them did not know that. He didn't expect them to; it was a sensitive subject among the wizarding world, and as a result, he suspected most of their parents did not tell them about that wizard's rise to power. They hadn't had much exposure to it at Hogwarts, either. History of Magic didn't deal with more recent things, and he knew Indira wasn't going to tell them. "Does anyone know who that wizard is?" he asked. It was a rhetorical question; they all knew who he was, but not many knew he had once been Minister of Magic.  
  
The only hand in the air was Minerva's, and Dippet called on her. "Erich Rainier, alias Grindelwald," she said, lowering her hand. "He served as Minister of Magic from 1915 to 1923. Two years later, the new Minister, Anton Rahmini, revealed Grindelwald for who he really was. Rahmini and his family were slaughtered hours later."  
  
"Right again," said Dippet. "Erich Rainier is the perfect example of how a dark wizard can rise to power. The world has known about his evil nature for twenty years, but there's no telling how long he has been gathering followers. His web of influence runs deeper than most people know."  
  
Minerva raised her hand. She had another question for Dippet, regarding the Rahmini family. She had stumbled upon the Daily Prophet article about their murder and had become curious about them ever since. When Dippet called on her, she lowered her hand and said, "Professor Dippet, is it true they never found the body of Anton Rahmini's youngest daughter?"  
  
He paused for a moment, then answered the question. "Anton and Celeste Rahmini had seven children. All nine of them were cut into pieces and scattered throughout their home. Madeline Rahmini was never identified, but that doesn't mean anything. Only four of them were ever positively identified. It is entirely possible that a piece of Madeline's body was thought to be part of someone else."  
  
Minerva wanted to ask him more questions, but before she could, Dippet began talking about a dark wizard named Alden Kaluza, who was in power in the late eighteenth century and nearly succeeded in taking over South America. She decided she would find the headmaster later and see if he would discuss Grindelwald further with her. She thought it would be a good idea to research Grindelwald as much as possible - it was always an advantage to know about one's enemy - and she was surprised at how much Dippet seemed to know, especially about the Rahmini family. The Rhaminis were a very powerful family, both in ability and position, and seeing such prominent figures savagely murdered at hands of Grindelwald was one of the reasons he was such a sensitive subject.  
  
Then, Minerva had another idea - Dumbledore. She'd always been closer to Dumbledore than any other faculty member, and besides, they were meeting that night for another Animagus lesson. She could bring up the subject then. If he knew anything, he was sure to tell her. 


	4. In which Minerva has a really good day

~~~

Chapter Seven: In which Minerva has a really good day

- February 15, 1945 -

~~~

            Minerva walked out of her interview with the scout from the Montrose Magpies feeling like she had just conquered the world.  Dumbledore hadn't been joking about how they couldn't decide whether they wanted her to play Chaser or Seeker; eventually, though, they reached a decision.  Starting that fall, she was to play Chaser for the most successful team in the history of the British and Irish League.  She couldn't think of anything that could improve or dampen her mood.

            She was meeting Dumbledore in a while for an Animagus lesson, but she still had about twenty minutes to go, so she decided to wander the school and look for a friend.  She didn't have to wander for long.  Just outside the Great Hall was none other than the captain of Slytherin's Quidditch team.  "Hi, Alastor," she called as she approached him.  "What are you doing?"

            "Oh, hi, Min," Alastor said when he saw her.  "Just waiting for the rest of the team to get here so we can review the strategy for next week's game with Hufflepuff.  Jones has a good group, but I think we can get her, _and_ second place."

            "Still got your sights set on the Quidditch Cup?"

            "With you flying?  Not a chance."  He winked, then said, "Now, what's this I hear about the Montrose Magpies?"

            She smiled sheepishly.  "Yes, the Montrose Magpies.  I just signed on to play Chaser next season."

            "The Montrose Magpies."  Alastor whistled softly.  "That's great, Min.  So, I guess you won't be joining the ranks of the Aurors with Tom and myself?"

            "Oh, Tom's decided to become an Auror?"

            "Yeah; came to the final decision this morning, actually.  And Paul's looking into it, too."

            "Oh, and speaking of Paul, did you find someone to take his place on the Quidditch team?"

            Alastor nodded.  "A third-year named Linden Monet.  He's not bad, but Paul was a lot better."

            "Sorry," Minerva said.  Even though it wasn't technically her fault that Paul was removed from Slytherin's Quidditch team, she still felt she bore some of the responsibility for the punishment he received from Professor Nay.  
            "Don't apologize.  It wasn't your fault."

            "How is Paul, anyway?"  She and Paul hadn't seen much of each other since their breakup.

            "He's enjoying the single life," Alastor said in a tone of voice that was not particularly kind.  "New girl every few days.  This week, it's Jacqueline Flynt; next week, my money's on Giselle Towers."

            "Didn't he date Giselle last year or something?"

            "Yeah," Alastor said.  "She was the one he dumped for you.  Hers wasn't the only heart broken when the two of you started going steady, you know."

            Minerva had always known Paul was a ladies' man, but after her experience with him, she didn't really understand why.

            "What about you?" he asked.  "Are _you_ enjoying the single life?"

            "I sure am.  It's so liberating; being able to go to the library on the weekends and study without worrying that I'm supposed to be meeting Paul somewhere…"

            "Got your sights set on a replacement?"

            She sighed.  "Not yet.  Professor Dumbledore said I should just give it time, and I think that's what I'm going to do."

            He chuckled.  "That's Dumbledore for you.  I bet he's been giving it time for the last eighty years."

            Minerva snapped her fingers and poked Alastor in the chest.  "Hey, be kind," she said.  "Dumbledore's a great man."

            "I never said he wasn't."

            She sighed.  "I wish there were more men like him in the world," she said, mostly to herself.

            A sly grin crossed Alastor's face.  "It sounds like someone's got a crush, M."

            "Don't be ridiculous," she said, but even as she spoke, her face gained some extra color.

            "You're on your way down there right now, aren't you?" he asked.

            She nodded.  "Animagus studies."

            "Ah, so _that's what they're calling it these days…"_

            "Alastor Moody!"

            He laughed.  "Sorry, sorry.  You know I love you, Min."

            "Yes, I do, but Arabella doesn't, so we'll make sure this stays our little secret, comprendé?"

            He placed his hand over his heart.  "Touché."

            "I'm going to be on my way now," she said.  "Have a good Quidditch practice."

            "Have a good study session," he returned as she started to walk away.  "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

            She laughed.  "Then I wouldn't be going in the first place!"

            "Oh, right."  He shrugged.  "Never mind, then."

            "You're early."

            "That's all you have to say to me?" Minerva asked as she made her way toward their usual front-row desk in Dumbledore's classroom.  "'You're early'?  Not 'How did the interview go?' or 'Did you do your essay yet?" or 'Are you ready?'?  Just 'You're early'?"

            Dumbledore smiled at her.  "All right.  How did the interview go?"

            "Excellent," she said, sitting down.  "I've signed on to play as Chaser next season."

            "That's wonderful, Minerva.  Did you do your essay yet?"

            She laughed.  "Yes, I did the essay."

            "Good."  He got up from behind his desk and joined her in the front row.  "Now then, are you ready?"

            "I am ready."

            "Well, I'm not.  I wasn't expecting you for another ten minutes," he said, and they both smiled.

            Dumbledore glanced around the room, then looked at Minerva again.  "You know, you're far ahead of where I thought you would be at this time, so if you have something else to do…"

            "I don't.  I finished the essay, remember?"

            "Has anyone ever told you to not let academics get in the way of your education?"

            She blinked and stared at him.  "I can't say I've ever heard _that one before."_

            "Well, since I can't seem to get rid of you, care to help me correct some papers?"

            "Sure!" she said.  "That would be great."

            "Good.  I'll go get them."

            He stood up, walked over to his desk, picked up a stack of papers, and then returned to the front row.  "I'll give you the essays from the first-years," he said, giving her the top half of the stack.  "You shouldn't have any problems, but on the off-chance that you do… bah, you won't have any problems."

            She smiled and started working.  It felt good working alongside Dumbledore; almost like they were colleagues instead of a teacher and his protégé.  Would there ever be a time when she _was his colleague?  She could only hope._

            For the first few minutes, they worked in silence.  Then, Dumbledore made an attempt at starting a conversation.  "So, how was your day?"

            "Great," she answered.  "The thing with the Magpies was the obvious highlight, but the rest of the day was pretty good, too."  She completed the essay she'd been working on and reached for another.  "The third-years I've been tutoring got the results from their last Charms test back today, and they all got one hundred percent.  And Professor Nay only took a grand total of twenty points away in Defense Against the Dark Arts today; ten from Gryffindor and ten from Hufflepuff."  She smiled.  "Kyle Thresher and Shirley Jones were arguing about the upcoming Quidditch game between Slytherin and Hufflepuff.  Ravenclaw's in second place for the Quidditch Cup right now, but the points between them are so close that Ravenclaw could conceivably drop back to fourth place and either Hufflepuff or Slytherin take the second place spot."

            "What do you think will happen?"

            She shrugged.  "I don't know.  It's really anyone's game.  They're both good teams, but I think Slytherin might be a little better – well, they were before they lost Paul, anyway.  They've replaced him with a third-year named Linden Monet.  According to Alastor, Monet's decent, but I'm sure they'll be missing Paul.  Alastor didn't come right out and say it, but I'm getting the impression that Paul's not very high on his favorite people list."

            "Understandable," said Dumbledore.  "As a teacher, I am supposed to remain objective and more or less uninvolved in this sort of thing, but when it comes to Paul Garrett…"

            "Oh, this is nothing.  You should see him around Professor Nay," said Minerva.  "He's always hated her, and I don't assume to know how she feels, but I do know she's not too fond of him."

            "She is _very concerned about you, you know," he commented.  "Professor Dippet has been spending some time with her, and according to him, she asks about you a lot."_

            "Why wouldn't she just ask _me?"_

            "Well, she does adhere quite strongly to protocol, and if a subject is not relevant to the topic at hand, it will not surface in any way, shape, or form, and how often do you two see each other outside of the classroom?"

            "Oh, true."  She sighed.  "Well, it's good to know someone cares, even if they don't show it."

            _I would, but it would be breaking every rule of protocol in the book_, he thought.  "Don't even think she's the only one," he said.  "I could start naming off all the people that care about you, but we'd be here all night."

            She smiled at him.  "You're a good friend, you know that?  I know I'm not supposed to think of you as my 'friend', but…"

            "I'm honored you consider me your friend," he said, "and if it's not too bold to say, I will miss you greatly."

            "Oh, no, you won't," she replied.  "I'll write.  I'll write so much you'll get sick of me."

            "I doubt it."

            Their eyes met, and the only thing that kept them apart was the thought that the other could never possibly feel the same way.

            Finally, Dumbledore forced himself to look away; he knew that if he looked at her any longer, he would be unable to hold back.  Minerva, too, averted her gaze, and they both went back to the papers.  Neither one could concentrate, though, being so distracted by wondering if the other had received the definite signal that had been sent just then.

            About ten minutes passed.  Dumbledore managed to finish correcting the paper he had in front of him, but that was only because it was almost done before he made eye contact with Minerva.  She was not so successful.  Her eyes were on the essay, but her mind was on the room's other occupant.  No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get her mind off him, and she doubted it was going to happen anytime soon.

            Minerva sighed and pushed the essay away.  The only way she could handle this problem was to get away from the distraction.  "I'm sorry, Professor," she said, standing up.  "I… I can't concentrate."

            His stomach twisted itself into a painful knot.  She must have noticed the way he was looking at her; she had, after all, been receiving those sorts of looks from nearly all of the male students at Hogwarts since about her fourth year.  Realizing she was sitting in a room with a lecherous old man would be more than a little uncomfortable.

            "You're leaving, then?" he asked.

            She nodded.  "Yeah.  I, uh…"  She sighed and sat down again.  "I'm pathetic."

            He almost laughed.  "You, pathetic?  What makes you say that?"

            _I'm obsessed with my Transfiguration instructor, that's what_, she thought, but didn't dare say that.  "I… I can't tell you."

            "It's not because you don't trust me, is it?" he asked, nearly cringing when he realized how desperate he sounded.

            She shook her head and stood up.  "No," she said.  "It's because I don't want to betray your trust."  She could feel her heart rate increasing.  "I've got to go."

            She started walking toward the door, but stopped when Dumbledore said quietly, "It's because of me, isn't it?"

            She slowly turned around.  He was standing now, and his eyes were downcast.  Did he think he had done something to make her stop trusting him?  She felt awful, doing something like that to her teacher, her mentor, her friend… she had to tell him.  She owed him the truth.  "Well, if you must know… yes, it is you."

            "I'm sorry," he said.  "I never meant to-"

            "What?" she interrupted.  "Never meant to be the most patient, understanding, amazing person I've ever met?  Never meant to motivate me to be the best I could possibly be?  Never meant to make me lay awake at night wishing I was seventy years older so it wouldn't be wrong for me to think I'm in love with you?"

            She gasped and covered her mouth.  _Did I just say that?  Shaking, she dropped her hand, and said, "Can we pretend I never said that?"_

            He crossed over to her in two steps.  "Only if we pretend that I'm not going to say you have no idea how much I want to kiss you."

            She couldn't take it any more.  She threw her arms around his neck, pulled him close to her, and kissed him.  It was a kiss she had been saving just for him, and it showed in the intensity and desperation with which it was given.  He was so taken aback by this that he almost didn't recover and return the kiss before she pulled away.

            "Yes," she said, "I do."

            An hour later, Minerva was lying on her bed in the girls' dormitories in Gryffindor tower, staring at the ceiling.  She smiled, closed her eyes, and sighed.  And just when she thought her day couldn't get any better…

            "Minerva?" came Arabella's voice.

            She opened her eyes and looked at her best friend.  "Oy?"

            "That's the fifth time you've sighed in the last two minutes."

            She sighed again.  "This is the best day of my life."


	5. In which things start to heat up

A/N: A big thank you to everyone who has read. Before I begin the next chapter, I'm going to address some questions. Riddle IS the head honcho, and Paul is drifting toward evil, but I think I'm going to kill him, so... yeah. And he is very much an arse. And Indira... here's your hints: it's not pleasant, it had something to do with Grindelwald, and Dippet knows everything. He eventually confronts her about it, and here's a spoiler quote from that scene: "I know what happened to you, Indira. I've known since before I met you. I know why you've cut yourself off from anyone you ever loved, and why you always push people away. I know why you flinch every time someone touches you." Nice, huh? Coming next chapter: Quidditch!  
  
~~~  
  
Chapter Three: In which things start to heat up  
  
-January 21, 1945-  
  
~~~  
  
After classes that day ended, Indira Nay spent a few minutes correcting essays from the second-years, then put her quill away and headed to the weekly staff meeting. On her way, she spotted something that made her stop: a large group of students gathered in a circle around something. She sensed trouble, and walked over to investigate.  
  
In the middle of the circle stood Tom Riddle, next to a blanket that looked like it had a person under it. Alastor Moody was standing off to the side, next to Minerva McGonagall, Arabella Figg, and Kelsie Appanitis. Indira figured the person under the blanket was Paul Garrett. Her suspicions were confirmed when Tom began talking to it. "Okay, Paul," he said, "here's the scenario: you're in the middle of the desert on a summer afternoon, and it's getting pretty hot. It's ninety-five degrees right now. Take off something you don't need."  
  
From underneath the blanket came Paul's robe. A few students chuckled, but most just smiled.  
  
"Thank you, Paul," Tom said. He picked up Paul's robe and handed it to Minerva. "Could you hold this please, Min? Thanks." He smiled at her, then turned his attention back to the blanket. "Paul, the temperature's going up to a hundred degrees, and it's going to get hotter. Take off something you don't need."  
  
There was some shifting and shuffling under the blanket, and Paul's shoes came out, followed by his socks.  
  
"Very good, Paul," Tom said. "Okay, it's getting hotter. It's up to a hundred ten degrees, Paul, a hundred and ten degrees in the desert. Take off something you don't need."  
  
The next items to come out from underneath the blanket were Paul's tie and vest. The chuckling was starting to spread. Indira stole a glance at Minerva. She looked amused, but a little perplexed as well.  
  
"Paul," Tom said, smiling broadly, "it's a hundred and twenty degrees in the desert. Come on, Paul, take off something you don't need."  
  
There was more shuffling, and Paul tossed out his shirt. Tom caught it and asked Minerva to hold that, too. She did, and Tom also picked up Paul's tie and draped it around her neck. Arabella said something about Minerva's potential as a clothes rack, and several students in the immediate vicinity laughed. Indira didn't find it funny at all.  
  
Tom knelt down next to the blanket and said, "Paul, it's a hundred and twenty-five degrees in the desert. It's really hot now, isn't it? Come on, Paul, take off something you don't need."  
  
Paul tossed his pants out. The students roared with laughter. Tom stood, picked up the pants, and said, "I don't know about that boyfriend of yours, Minerva."  
  
Alastor shrugged and said, "I'd say Paul's got Kelsie's boyfriend beat."  
  
"Ooooh," went the crowd.  
  
Tom pointed his finger at Alastor and said, "Watch yourself, Moody." He put Paul's pants on the floor and said, "It's now up to a hundred and thirty degrees, Paul, a hundred and thirty degrees in the desert. Take off something you don't need."  
  
Paul's undershirt came out from underneath the blanket. Tom held it up for everyone to see while the crowd howled with laughter. Minerva's face was turning red, and tears were forming in the corners of her eyes from laughing so hard.  
  
"Paul!" Tom shouted above the laughter. "Paul, you're in the desert! It's now a hundred and thirty-five degrees! Take off something you don't need when it's a hundred and thirty-five degrees in the desert!"  
  
There was some movement underneath the blanket, and then Paul tossed out his underwear. The students watching were laughing so hard they were in tears. Several could no longer stand by themselves. Minerva had her face buried in Kelsie's shoulder, and both of them were leaning on Arabella for support. All three were shaking from laughing. Indira was disgusted.  
  
"Paul!" Tom yelled. "When it's a hundred and thirty-five degrees in the desert, you don't need this blanket!"  
  
He ripped the blanket off, and the students half laughed, half screamed. However, what they saw was not a naked Paul Garrett, but Paul sitting on the floor, wearing the pants from his Quidditch uniform. A smile stretched from ear to ear on his handsome face. He had been wearing his Quidditch pants the whole time and had put his underwear on over them.  
  
The students cheered. Paul stood up and bowed. The cheering grew louder. One person, however, was not impressed by the joke - Indira Nay. She didn't see this as funny at all, and when the students noticed their stern-faced Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor in their midst, the laughing and cheering quickly died down.  
  
Paul walked over to Minerva, kissed her on the cheek, and began to gather up his clothing. He stopped when he saw Indira, and smiled innocently at her. "Hi, Professor Nay," he said. "Good joke, huh?"  
  
"Garrett," Indira said quietly, "everything you do annoys me."  
  
The joking mood had completely vanished, and the crowd began to break up.  
  
"Sorry, Professor," Paul said, throwing his robe around his shoulders.  
  
"Get dressed," she instructed. "Ten points from Slytherin. If you ever pull a prank like this again, it will be more. You're not as funny as you think you are, Mr. Garrett."  
  
As Indira walked away, Tom leaned in toward Paul and whispered, "When do you think the last time she had a date was?"  
  
Paul snorted, and both boys began laughing.  
  
"It's a waste, if you ask me," Paul said, and resumed picking up his clothes. The only students that still remained were him, Tom, Alastor, Minerva, Arabella, and Kelsie. "Look at her. She's gorgeous. If she wasn't such a bitch, I'd sleep with her in a heartbeat."  
  
"I thought you hated her," Alastor commented.  
  
"I do," Paul replied, "but there's no point in overreacting."  
  
It never occured to him that that probably wasn't the wisest thing to say in front of his girlfriend.  
  
~~~  
  
Taking the time to watch Paul and Tom's prank made Indira a few minutes late for the staff meeting, and the other faculty members were unsuccessful in covering up their surprise. "Wow, Indira," said Jason Rose, the Charms instructor. "When was the last time you were late for anything?"  
  
Indira ignored Rose's comment and took a seat. "I apologize," she said. "I had to take care of something and put a certain individual back in his place."  
  
Armando Dippet studied Indira for a moment, then said, "All right, what happened?"  
  
Indira looked at him. "This is neither the time nor the place."  
  
"It's a staff meeting," Dippet replied. "The purpose of a staff meeting is to discuss what is going on at the school. What happened?"  
  
She didn't answer. The two of them stared each other down for almost a full minute, neither one blinking. Finally, Indira sighed and looked away. "I see you've been developping a steely gaze, Professor Dippet."  
  
"I've been observing the master."  
  
Several teachers stifled laughter, one of them being Albus Dumbledore.  
  
Indira glanced around at her colleagues, rolled her eyes, and said, "I can only assume you meant me."  
  
"Your assumption is correct. Now what happened?"  
  
"Garrett and Riddle again," she answered. "Another one of their idiotic jokes. Need I continue?"  
  
"What did they do?" Dumbledore asked.  
  
Indira briefly outlined what happened.  
  
"That sounds harmless," Dippet said. "A little crude, perhaps, but harmless just the same."  
  
"Nothing Tom Riddle and Paul Garrett do is harmless," Indira retorted.  
  
Dippet resisted the urge to say that she should never have children. The chance of them turning out like her was just too great to risk it. Instead, he moved on to other business. "Well, then, now that we've gotten that out of the way, let's discuss what to do regarding the plans for remodelling the Quidditch stands..."  
  
~~~  
  
That night, in the Gryffindor common room, Arabella Figg noticed that Minerva seemed a little under the weather. She was sitting in a large armchair in the corner with an open book in hand, but wasn't reading. She didn't look happy. Arabella watched her for a few minutes, then decided to go see what was up. "Are you all right?" she asked as she approached her friend.  
  
Minerva sighed and tapped her fingers against the pages of her book absentmindedly. "Nothing," she said. "It's... it's stupid."  
  
Arabella sat down on the chair's armrest. "Talk."  
  
Minerva bit her lip, glanced at the floor, and then looked up again. "Paul," she confessed. "Did you hear what he said earlier today? He and Tom were talking about Professor Nay, and-"  
  
"I heard," Arabella said, and nodded. "Come on, Min. You know he wasn't serious."  
  
"He sounded serious to me."  
  
"Oh, don't worry about it. Besides, she's not that pretty."  
  
Minerva just looked at her.  
  
Arabella wrinkled her nose, frowned, and said, "Okay, so she is, but really, I think you're overreacting. Paul's a looker, not a toucher, and besides, Professor Nay? I don't think she'd ever sleep with anyone, much less a student."  
  
Minerva took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then, in a quiet voice, she said, "I hate her."  
  
"Nay?"  
  
She nodded. "I hate her," she said again. "She's a cold, heartless bitch, and I hate her. I don't know what she did to ruin her life, but it was obviously enough to make her want to ruin everyone else's, too." She rubbed at her eyes. "You know how I've been doing Animagus training with Professor Dumbledore since the beginning of the year?"  
  
"Yeah. What about it?"  
  
"Two weeks ago, I had my first successful transformation."  
  
Arabella's face broke into a smile. "That's great!" she said, and gave her friend a quick hug. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"  
  
"Dumbledore didn't want me to tell anyone until I was registered," Minerva explained.  
  
"Understandable," Arabella said. She paused, then added, "But what does this have to do with Nay?"  
  
"After the transformation, Dumbledore and I were so excited we hugged each other," Minerva continued. "And then, right at that moment, who should walk in but Professor Indira 'Evil Incarnate' Nay?"  
  
"Let me guess. She tried to have you expelled."  
  
"Not quite, but according to Dumbledore, she went to Dippet. He's a lot more civil than she is, though, and we went away with a warning. I don't know what she said to Dippet, but when she and Dumbledore were going at it... it was intense."  
  
Arabella nodded and pushed a section of loose hair behind her ear. "Good thing Nay can't make Dumbledore crack."  
  
"Tell me about it," Minerva said. "She hasn't cracked Dippet that I know of, either, but she's gotten every other faculty member. I'm sure it's only a matter of time with Dippet. Dumbledore's the only one that isn't afraid of her."  
  
"He's a great person," Arabella commented.  
  
"Yes, he is," Minerva agreed. "I wish..."  
  
"What?"  
  
A small, embarressed smile crossed Minerva's face. "You're going to think this is stupid, but... but I sometimes wish that he isn't a teacher and I'm not a student, if you take my meaning."  
  
"That's not stupid," Arabella said, "unless, of course, you're just saying that because of what Paul said about Professor Nay."  
  
Minerva shook her head. "I'm not. Never mind. Just forget I ever said anything about that. And please, promise me you won't tell Paul about this conversation."  
  
"I promise." 


	6. In which there is a game of Quidditch

A/N: Last chapter before I leave! Enjoy. I'll try to have another one when I get back.  
  
~~~  
  
Chapter Four: In which there is a game of Quidditch  
  
- February 7, 1945 -  
  
~~~  
  
From his position on his broomstick high above the Quidditch pitch, Gryffindor's Seeker, fourth-year Gordon "Pooky" Dayton could see almost everything going on in the game except the location of the Golden Snitch. The tiny gold ball was being exceptionally elusive today, probably because of the cold weather; it had been known to do that before. Ravenclaw's Seeker, Ronny Buchanen, hadn't spotted it yet, either, even though the game had been going on for almost ten minutes. Gryffindor was ahead 60-20, but that would change if Ronny caught the Snitch.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Gordon stole a glance at Gryffindor's outstanding Chaser trio, consisting of fourth-year Anna "Squeaks" Patterson, fifth-year Joshua "Frog" Pauli, and seventh-year captain Minerva "Ace" McGonagall. All the members of the team had nicknames, but no one was sure why. They just did, and that was good enough for them. The Chasers were moving the Quaffle downfield yet again, led by Minerva, who was quite possibly the best Quidditch player in the school. As they approached the goal, she tossed the Quaffle back to Joshua, who faked back to her and tossed to Anna instead. Anna threw at the goal, but what looked like a shot right at it turned out to be another pass, this time to Minerva, who was in position behind the goal. Ravenclaw didn't have a chance.  
  
Gordon smiled to himself and went back to looking for the Snitch. Suddenly, Ronny's expression changed. For a moment, Gordon thought he'd spied the Snitch, but quickly ruled that out because he looked scared. "Look out!" Ravenclaw's Seeker shouted, and ducked.  
  
Ronny's warning came just a fraction of a second too late. A Bludger struck Gordon in the back on the head, and the last thing he remembered before he slipped into unconsciousness was falling.  
  
Downfield, Minerva saw Gordon fall off his broomstick, and fear gripped her heart. She broke out of formation and began flying toward him, hoping she could catch him in time. She seized him by the collar of his robes less than ten feet above the ground and yelled for a time out. By the time she landed on the snow-covered ground, the rest of Gryffindor's Quidditch team had descended around them. The referee, Professor Dorrenbacher, was close behind. "Back up!" Dorrenbacher shouted as he jumped off his broom. "Give him some air!"  
  
All the team members except Minerva backed away from Gordon. Dorrenbacher knelt down in the snow next to them. "He's unconscious," Minerva said. "Alive, but unconscious."  
  
"We've got to get him to the hospital wing," Dorrenbacher said. Even as he spoke, the school nurse, Madam Tyburski, was running toward them. Dorrenbacher looked at Minerva. "You're not going to have a Seeker this game, Miss McGonagall."  
  
"No Seeker?" Joshua asked. "What are we going to do?"  
  
"Well, you can forfeit, or you can-"  
  
"We're not going to forfeit," Minerva interrupted. "We're going to keep playing."  
  
"'Keep playing'?" repeated one of the two Beaters, a seventh-year named Kyle "Shark" Thresher. "Without Pooky? What's the point?"  
  
Minerva stood up and walked over to him. Kyle was six feet four inches tall, weighed almost three hundred pounds, and didn't have an ounce of fat on him. Five foot seven, one hundred twenty pound Minerva was little more than a twig next to him, but under her gaze, he felt as big and strong as a mouse. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years," she said sternly, "and we are not going to lose the match over a little thing like this."  
  
"Ace, we don't have a Seeker," said the Keeper, fifth-year Ingrid "Flash" Miklos. "We've got a good team, but without a Seeker, it's hopeless."  
  
"There's no way we can win now," said Anna.  
  
Minerva sighed and looked at the only team member who hadn't spoken yet, their second Beater, a sixth-year named Martin "Tiny" Blumethal. Martin was two inches taller than Kyle and just as brawny. "Care to offer an opinion, Tiny?" she asked.  
  
Martin bit his lip and stared at the ground. He, like Kyle, was afraid of her, even though he could easily break her in half.  
  
"We can do this," Minerva said as Dorrenbacher and Tyburski carried Gordon off the field. "We've got three great Chasers, an excellent Keeper, and the best two Beaters Hogwarts has seen in decades. All we have to do is score a hundred and twenty points before Buchanen catches the Snitch without letting them score anything."  
  
The other team members exchanged a look of confusion among themselves. "And you make it sound so simple," said Anna.  
  
"This is what we're going to do," Minerva said. She looked at Ingrid. "Flash, you've really got to step it up. Nothing can get by, you got it? NOTHING."  
  
Ingrid nodded.  
  
Minerva looked at Joshua and Anna next. "Squeaks, Frog, you two handle the Quaffle." She then turned her gaze to the Beaters. "Shark, Tiny, you two act as an escort for them. Don't let anyone get close. When we're on defense, I want Squeaks helping out at the goal and Frog trying to get the Quaffle back. Beaters, you just do your thing."  
  
"What are you doing, Ace?" asked Martin.  
  
She took a deep breath, then said, "I'll play Chaser until Buchanen sees the Snitch, and then I'm going to chase it."  
  
By now, the team was beginning to think their captain had lost it. "Are you crazy?" Joshua exclaimed.  
  
She nodded. "Yes, I am. My plan is to chase the Snitch and keep Buchanen from catching it."  
  
"Is that allowed?" asked Kyle.  
  
"As long as I don't touch it or Buchanen, yes, it's allowed. I don't think it's been done before, but it's not breaking any rules that I am aware of." She looked at each of the members of the team individually. "We can do this. It's going to be hard, but we can do it. Just believe."  
  
Dorrenbacher was making his way back to the pitch.  
  
"What say, team?" she asked. "In or out?"  
  
"In, of course," said Ingrid. "What's wrong with you, Ace?"  
  
"Yeah," agreed Martin. "You said that like we had a choice or something."  
  
Minerva smiled. Back was the Gryffindor Quidditch team she knew and loved. "That's more like it. Let's do this!"  
  
Dorrenbacher walked up to them. "He'll be fine, but he won't be playing this game," he told them. "Have you come to a decision?"  
  
She nodded. "We have, Professor Dorrenbacher. We're going to keep playing."  
  
Dorrenbacher almost looked impressed. "Very well, then. Gryffindor, you've got posession."  
  
"Remember the plan, team," Minerva called as they mounted their broomsticks and rose into the air. Dorrenbacher gave her the Quaffle, and at the sound of his whistle, the game resumed.  
  
As planned, the two Beaters escorted the Chasers down the field, whacking Bludgers at anyone who dared to get close. As they drew toward the goal, Kyle sent a Bludger flying at Vince Christophe, Ravenclaw's Keeper. One of Ravenclaw's Beaters flew up to hit it out of the way, and while that was going on, Joshua made an easy goal. Seventy-twenty, Gryffindor.  
  
"Good job, Frog!" Minerva called. "Squeaks, downfield!"  
  
Anna nodded and shot off toward the Gryffindor goal. Minerva and Joshua set to the task of stealing back the Quaffle. Ravenclaw didn't get halfway downfield before Minerva intercepted a pass. She raced toward the Ravenclaw goal, Joshua and the Ravenclaw Chasers right behind her. She faked a shot at the goal, and passed back to Joshua instead. Christophe fell for the fake, and Joshua scored easily.  
  
"We're doing it, Gryffindor!" Minerva yelled. "Ten more!"  
  
Ravenclaw got a little bit farther downfield that time, but one of their Chasers had the Quaffle knocked out of his hands by a Bludger courtesy of Martin Blumethal. Anna caught it, and the two Gryffindor Beaters flew in front of her as she shot toward the Ravenclaw goal. Christophe was ready for any tricks Gryffindor might try to pull this time. Anna shot at the goal, but he caught it and threw it to one of his Chasers. What he didn't expect, though, was for Minerva to intercept it and take a shot of her own. This one was good, and Gryffindor was up by seventy. Nine more goals.  
  
The crowd was thoroughly enjoying the game. Everyone had expected Gryffindor to give up when they lost their Seeker, and instead, they started playing harder than ever. They were still trying to win. It was crazy. Even some of the Ravenclaws were cheering for Gryffindor. They might go down, but if they did, they would go down fighting.  
  
Gryffindor managed to score three more goals in the five minutes before Ronny Buchanen finally saw the Snitch. They were up by a hundred now, and had to score six more goals without letting Ravenclaw score any if they expected to win. "Minerva! Up there!" Joshua called when he saw Ronny take off. "He sees the Snitch!"  
  
Minerva nodded and broke out of formation. "Just keep doing what you're doing!" she called to her team as she raced to catch up with Ronny.  
  
Kyle sent a Bludger flying at Ronny, causing the Ravenclaw Seeker to swerve off his course to avoid being hit. The distraction bought Minerva enough time to close the distance between the two of them and get in front of the Snitch. If Ronny expected to get it, he was going to have to get past her.  
  
Minerva had never played Seeker before, and had no idea just how difficult it was. The Snitch was never easy to catch, and today, it was being more unpredictable than ever. It went to the left, then back to the right, then down, up and left, and then reversed direction completely. She pulled a hairpin turn and continued chasing the Snitch. Ronny didn't react as quickly, and he fell further behind.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Minerva stole a glance at the scoreboard. Gryffindor had scored again. Five more. Only five more...  
  
Ronny was starting to gain back some distance. The Snitch went up. Minerva went up, too, and so did Ronny. They were almost a hundred feet above the ground before the Snitch went down again. It started zigzagging, and then, went into a spiral. Minerva was starting to get dizzy, but she knew she had to stay focused. If Ronny caught the Snitch before Gryffindor reached a hundred and eighty points, it was over.  
  
"ANNA PATTERSON SCORES!" yelled the commentator, a fourth-year Hufflepuff named Sheena Carver. "One hundred forty to twenty, Gryffindor!"  
  
The Snitch was going up again, and now, it was nearly level with the stands. They were going by the Slytherins, who were cheering as loud as they could. "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Alastor Moody roared. "Nice flying, Minnie baby!"  
  
Minerva couldn't help smiling a little. She and Alastor had always been flirty with each other. Paul didn't care at all, and Arabella minded even less. She quickly focused all her attention on the Snitch again and followed it as it dove back down toward the ground. Suddenly, a Ravenclaw Beater placed himself in her path, and she had to swerve to miss him. As a result, both she and Ronny lost sight of the Snitch.  
  
Gryffindor's score had gone up to a hundred fifty, thanks to another goal by Anna. Three more goals, and the game was theirs. Ravenclaw could see their chance for victory getting smaller and smaller. They had only taken two shots at the goal since Gryffindor stepped it up, and neither one got past Ingrid. If Gryffindor kept going at their current rate, nothing could stop them from winning.  
  
Minerva saw the Snitch again and took off. Ronny was right behind her. Ravenclaw would win if he got the Snitch before Gryffindor scored two more goals, and that seemed to motivate him. The Snitch, in turn, had decided to be more obnoxious than ever. It went into an upward spiral, then turned completely around and plummetted downward. The ground was coming up fast, but she couldn't afford to put safety first. Not when they were so close to winning.  
  
The Snitch was just inches off the ground before it went back up again, this time at an angle. The crowd gasped Minerva and Ronny pulled up just in time, and then cheered when Joshua scored another goal for Gryffindor. Minerva leaned forward on her broomstick, trying to get as much speed as possible. Ronny could still catch the Snitch and win the game for Ravenclaw. She wasn't going to let that happen. Not after all this.  
  
The Snitch changed direction again, forcing the two players in pursuit to pull another hairpin turn. Minerva, as the more experienced player, managed to pull a tighter turn than Ronny, and that gave her a little bit more distance. She ducked a Bludger, then followed the Snitch as it zigzagged back and forth at an upward angle. Ronny was still behind, but he was gaining.  
  
"Joshua Pauli for Gryffindor!" Sheena Carver said. "Another ten points to Gryffindor, putting them exactly one hundred fifty points ahead of Ravenclaw! If Buchanen gets around McGonagall and catches the Snitch, we'll have a tie game!"  
  
He's not going to get around me, Minerva thought to herself, not yet, anyway, and there will be no tie.  
  
Kyle knocked a Bludger toward the Ravenclaw Chaser carrying the Quaffle. One of the Ravenclaw Beaters appeared and sent it flying toward Joshua and Anna, who were coming up fast. Martin was ready, though, and he whacked the Bludger back at the trio of Ravenclaws. It hit the lead Chaser in the hands, and he dropped the Quaffle. Another Ravenclaw tried to get it, but she was too slow. Joshua now had the Quaffle, and he and Anna were racing back toward the goal.  
  
The Snitch went into another downward plunge, leveled out about thirty feet above the ground, and started flying in a circle. The crowd was cheering louder than ever. Joshua passed to Anna. She passed back to him. Martin hit a Bludger toward Christophe. While he was distracted by that, Anna flew behind the goal. Joshua made it look like he was shooting, but in actuality, it was a pass to Anna, who now had a clear shot at the goal.  
  
Suddenly, a Bludger struck Minerva in the rib cage. It hit her with such force that she lost her grip on her broomstick and fell off. She landed hard on the snowy ground, but the gasps from the crowd quickly turned to cheers when Anna scored. Half a second later, Ronny caught the Snitch, and the sound of Dorrenbacher's whistle signalled the end of the game. Minerva didn't know it was possible to be in so much pain and be so happy at the same time.  
  
"Buchanen catches the Snitch!" yelled Sheena. "Final score is Ravenclaw one hundred seventy, Gryffindor one hundred eighty! GRYFFINDOR WINS!!!"  
  
Minerva felt something in her throat, covered her mouth, and started to cough. When she pulled her hand away after the coughing fit ended, she noticed that it was covered with blood. Not even the excitement from winning could cover up the pain now, and she realized that she probably had a few broken ribs. At any rate, coughing up blood wasn't a good sign.  
  
The rest of her team quickly surrounded her. "Way to fly, Ace!" said Ingrid. "That was amazing!"  
  
"Thanks," Minerva said through clenched teeth. "All of you were incredible. How do you feel?"  
  
"Exhausted," said Joshua, and everyone except Minerva laughed. None of them had ever played so hard in their lives.  
  
Anna was the first to notice that Minerva was injured. "You all right, Ace?"  
  
"No," Minerva replied. "I think I broke some ribs."  
  
Almost on cue, Madam Tyburski arrived, followed closely by Dorrenbacher, Dumbledore, and Dippet. "Out of the way!" Madam Tyburski yelled. The Gryffindor Quidditch team scattered, allowing the nurse to get through. She dropped to her knees next to the injured player and began to assess the damages. "Broken ribs, all right," she confirmed. "Must have torn the lung tissue. This isn't good."  
  
Minerva briefly made eye contact with Dumbledore. She had never seen him so worried. She found it in her to smile at him, and that seemed to make him relax a little bit. Dippet took notice of this and glanced at Dumbledore out of the corner of his eye, but made no comment.  
  
Ravenclaw's captain, a fifth-year Chaser named Andrew Castaneda, flew down to see what all the commotion was about. "What's going on?" he asked.  
  
"She broke her rib," Martin explained.  
  
"Three of them, from the looks of it," said Madam Tyburski.  
  
"Good game, Cass," Minerva managed to say.  
  
"You too, Mac," Castaneda returned, nodding his head respectfully.  
  
"No talking!" Madam Tyburski ordered Minerva. "Come on, we've got to get her to the hospital wing. I can fix the bones just fine out here, but it's the internal bleeding that I'm worried about."  
  
Dippet reached into his robes, pulled out a small vial, and handed it to the nurse. "Here," he said. "It's a sleeping potion. It'll knock her out if she takes all of it, and then we'll be able to move her."  
  
Madam Tyburski thanked him and administered the potion to her patient.  
  
Dumbledore looked at the headmaster and said, "Do you always carry around sleeping potion?"  
  
"Of course. Don't you?" He smiled. "Actually, it's not for me. It's for... never mind." He turned and started to walk away.  
  
"Armando..."  
  
Dippet stopped walking and looked at him. "Fine. It's... it's for Indira, actually. But don't tell her. She doesn't know."  
  
Now Dumbledore was just confused. "What do you mean?"  
  
Dippet motioned for Dumbledore to follow, and the two of them began to walk back toward Hogwarts. Once he was sure no one else could hear him, Dippet answered Dumbledore's question. "I've been slipping a few drops into her drink at dinner every night for years," he explained. "She... doesn't sleep well."  
  
"How do you know?" He was almost certain Indira didn't confide in him, or anyone, for that matter.  
  
"I have my ways. No more questions." He quickened his pace, and Dumbledore fell behind.  
  
Dumbledore wasn't used to Dippet acting so mysterious. "Do you know something about her the rest of us don't?"  
  
Dippet glanced over his shoulder and said, "I told you, no more questions. Please, I've told you too much already. No one must know that I know, especially Indira."  
  
He didn't understand. He figured Indira had secrets - after all, who didn't? - but he never imagined that anyone else knew about them. And why didn't Dippet want anyone to know that he knew? Something was going on, and he was determined to find out what. 


	7. In which deep conversations take place

A/N: Well I'm back from camp, once again, for two days. On Sunday, I'm going back as a counselor for the younger kids. No more updates prepared as of yet, but the next chapters for 'Trust No One' and 'Harry Potter and the Return of the Four' are in the works! Enjoy.  
  
~~~  
  
Chapter Six: In which deep conversations take place  
  
- That evening -  
  
~~~  
  
  
  
Animagus studies lasted a little over an hour. Nothing that happened earlier that day, from Minerva's fight with Paul to Indira's unusual behavior to Dippet's apparent extensive knowledge of Grindelwald and the Rahmini family, was mentioned. In fact, Minerva became so absorbed in the information Dumbledore gave her in their study session that she was halfway to the door before she remembered her questions. "Professor Dumbledore," she said, walking back toward him, "may I ask you a few questions?"  
  
He nodded and motioned for her to sit down, which she did. "May I inquire what about?" he asked, sitting down next to her.  
  
"Actually, there's a few different things," she said. "First, I was wondering if you could tell me anything about Grindelwald."  
  
Dumbledore cringed, and Minerva had a feeling that this was a sensitive subject. She tried to say that he didn't have to say anything if he didn't want to, but he held up his hand for silence when she was halfway through the sentence. "It's all right," he said. "Burying the truth only makes it more painful when it resurfaces." He paused, then took a deep breath and spoke again. "Erich Rainier, alias Grindelwald, was a brilliant, powerful, promising wizard in his youth. His last year at Hogwarts was my first as a teacher, and he was a pleasure to teach, not unlike you, in many ways. We were all so proud of him when he became Minister of Magic thirty years ago. He was an excellent Minister, one of the best we've ever had. No one suspected who he really was. There was no reason to. When Anton Rahmini, who took over as Minister after Grindelwald, discovered the truth, no one believed him. They were all believing, though, when Rahmini and his family were murdered.  
  
"Grindelwald's influence has been spreading for well over the twenty years it's been since he killed the Rahminis. I'm sure they were not the first, and they certainly haven't been the last. There's no telling how many followers he has. Half the Ministry of Magic is loyal to him, and I'm sure there are many other wizards and witches in high places that have pledged themselves to him."  
  
"Why hasn't he been stopped?" Minerva asked. "Hasn't anyone tried?"  
  
He nodded. "Oh, yes. Many have tried, and all have failed. My sister, Lucilla, was the headof an organization working against Grindelwald twelve years ago. However, there was a spy in her service who betrayed them, and their headquarters were raided one night... there were no survivors."  
  
She gasped. No wonder he'd cringed. "I'm sorry."  
  
He managed a small smile. "Thank you. Did you have another question?"  
  
"Yes. Do you know anything about the Rahmini family?"  
  
His smile turned apologetic. "Not much, I'm afraid," he admitted. "Well, not along the line of what I think you're asking. You want to know what happened to them, don't you?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"All I know is they were chopped into pieces and that authorities could only positively identify four of them. They're almost certain on two more, but they're still skeptical about another two, and completely stumped on the last."  
  
"Madeline," Minerva said.  
  
Dumbledore nodded. "They found a piece that they thought was Madeline, but it turned out to be Celeste. If they confused a woman in her mid-forties with a seven-year-old, it almost makes one wonder how accurate the rest of their measurements are."  
  
Minerva shrugged. "Yes, it does, but you'd think that they could at least have an educated guess. It's almost like she vanished into thin air or something."  
  
"Well, just because she was never found doesn't mean she wasn't killed with the rest of them. She could have been identified as one of the others; maybe one of her brothers," he said, and they both found themselves with ironic smiles on their faces; not because it was funny, but because the system was so ineffective. "Besides, no one has ever come forth claiming to be Madeline Rahmini."  
  
"Professor Dippet said something like that."  
  
"Professor Dippet?" Dumbledore repeated. He sounded confused.  
  
"He taught Defense Against the Dark Arts today instead of Professor Nay," Minerva explained. "He said Nay wasn't feeling well."  
  
"Yes, I knew that, but what I don't understand is why he would have told you about the Rahminis. Most people refrain from mentioning them at any cost."  
  
"That was my doing. He asked us about Grindelwald, and I mentioned them in my answer. I asked him if it was true that Madeline was never found, and he said she was never identified. He seemed to know a lot. I was surprised."  
  
"Strange; I don't know why Armando would be so interested in that incident," Dumbledore said, mostly to himself. "He's never mentioned it before..."  
  
Minerva glanced at the clock on the wall. It was twenty minutes to nine. She decided she'd better hurry up and ask her next question before it got too late. "Professor Dumbledore, can you tell me why Professor Nay wasn't in class today? Professor Dippet told me a little, but he wasn't very specific."  
  
"I'm afraid I can't, because I don't know," he replied. "All I know is that it had something to do with what happened this morning."  
  
"I've never seen her act like that," said Minerva. "I thought she was going to kill Paul, and I'm not joking. She took a hundred points from Slytherin, gave him detention every night for the rest of the year, kicked him off the Quidditch team, and stripped him of prefect status. According to Dippet, she's pushing for expulsion and assault charges. And then, she gave points to Gryffindor. I don't understand it at all."  
  
"She was probably worried about your safety," said Dumbledore, "as am I. Are you all right?"  
  
"I'm fine. Really," she answered. "I'm not scared of Paul. Besides, I did a lot more to him than he did to me."  
  
"That's no excuse for what he did."  
  
"Well, no, but I was provoking him," she said. "I humiliated him in front of half the school, and I kept talking when I should have just walked away."  
  
"You say that like it was your fault."  
  
"It was, partly. I should have just ignored him and left."  
  
Dumbledore studied her for a moment, then said, "Minerva, if this is not too personal a question, may I ask you why you broke up with Paul?"  
  
It was a very personal question, but she was comfortable talking to him, so she answered it. "I was wrong about him," she said. "He's rude, arrogant, conceited, and lustful. I don't need him. I don't need anyone."  
  
"Minerva, I never thought I'd say this, but don't be so sure of yourself," said Dumbledore. "Just because Paul didn't turn out to be the one for you doesn't mean there's not someone out there."  
  
It was moments like this that made Minerva wish she was about seventy years older.  
  
"Just give it time," Dumbledore continued. He smiled at her, then added, "I don't think you have anything to worry about."  
  
She smiled back at him, and couldn't help but think that if Indira Nay had heard their last few seconds of dialogue, she would have had a reaction similar to the one she had to the incident that morning.  
  
"How are your injuries?" Dumbledore asked. "From the Quidditch game, that is."  
  
Minerva didn't even realize she had pressed her hand to her still-tender rib cage until she felt pain shoot through her entire body. "Well, I'm out of the hospital wing," she said with a smile, "but I think I'll be walking funny for a few days."  
  
He smiled, too. "I'm not supposed to tell you this until tomorrow, but I will as long as you promise not to tell anyone I told you."  
  
"Of course," she said, leaning closer to him. "What is it?"  
  
"A scout from the Montrose Magpies was at the Quidditch game, and they can't decide whether they want to ask you to play for them as a Chaser or Seeker.  
  
Minerva gasped and covered her mouth. "You're joking!" she exclaimed. "The Montrose Magpies? The most successful team in the history of the British and Irish League wants me to play for them?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
She almost hugged him, but then remembered what happened last time and didn't. "Wow," she said. "I... I'm blown away."  
  
"Are you free on the fifteenth? That's when they want to talk to you."  
  
"I am now," she replied. She felt a sudden urge to pinch herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming. The Montrose Magpies! This was an honor like no other.  
  
"Good. I'll send an owl to the scout first thing in the morning."  
  
She looked at the clock again and realized that if she didn't show up in the Gryffindor common room soon, people might start thinking something had happened to her. "I'd better go," she said, and got up and began walking toward the door. Just before exiting the room, she turned around and smiled at him. "Thank you, for everything."  
  
"You're welcome," he said, feeling a surge of warmth rise up from inside.  
  
It was moments like this that made Dumbledore wish he was about seventy years younger.  
  
~~~  
  
Having not seen Indira Nay since that morning, Armando Dippet thought it would be a good idea to check on her and make sure she was all right. Indira was one of the last people he would want to go see of his own free will, but he felt it was his duty as headmaster to see that everyone on staff was in a fit state to carry out their duties. That thought provided him with the strength he needed to go up to Indira's chambers and knock on the door. A lesser being would have crumbled.  
  
"Who's there?" Indira's voice came after a few seconds of silence.  
  
"Dippet, Armando I.," he replied.  
  
A few more seconds passed, and then Indira opened the door, just wide enough to stick her head through. "With all due respect, Headmaster, why are you here?"  
  
That was a better reaction than what he anticipated. "Just making sure you're all right."  
  
"You need not worry about me, Professor Dippet. I'm fine," she said. "It's Minerva McGonagall I'm worried about."  
  
"I spoke with her earlier today. She seems fine."  
  
Indira closed her eyes and nodded. "I hope so. Good night, sir."  
  
Neither one of them moved.  
  
She studied him for a few moments, then sighed and opened the door all the way. "You aren't going to get anything out of me, but you're welcome to come in just the same."  
  
"Thank you, Indira," Dippet said, trying to sound as though he hadn't expected this.  
  
Indira's chambers were unnaturally immaculate. There were no decorations, and a minimal amount of furniture: a small table and chair in one corner, a cabinet, several bookcases, and a green couch. There was a door on the wall opposite the entrance. He assumed that it must lead into her bedroom, and also assumed that it would be just as clean and hostile as this room. The room didn't look as though anyone lived there, and he wasn't surprised. He doubted that Indira spent much time here of her own free will.  
  
They sat down on opposite ends of the couch. A few seconds of awkward silence later, Indira said, "So, how were the classes?"  
  
"Good," he answered. "I collected the vampire essays from the third-years, and the seventh-years read the introductory chapter for the unit on dark wizards. The other classes took notes on their current subjects. I didn't assign anything."  
  
"Thank you," she said. Her voice was soft, and her gaze was resting on the floor. "I'm sure they enjoyed having you for a teacher."  
  
"I have to admit that it felt good to be in a classroom again, but I don't teach that subject half as well as you do," Dippet said. "You're an excellent teacher, Professor Nay."  
  
She tucked a piece of dark hair that had escaped from her braid behind her ear and said, "I'm glad someone thinks so."  
  
"Yes, and everyone else knows it."  
  
She should have known better than to try to have a battle of wits with a Ravenclaw. Indira lifted her eyes, straightened her back, and looked directly at him. "Forgive me, Headmaster," she said, "but what do you want?"  
  
"Honestly?" He placed his hands on his knees and leaned slightly toward her. "I want to be your friend."  
  
He wanted to be her friend. She had to struggle to keep her surprise from showing. "You want to be my friend?" she said cautiously.  
  
He nodded. "Yes, if you will let me."  
  
She bit her lip, stared at the floor, closed her eyes, and whispered, "I would like a friend."  
  
She looked up, and he smiled at her. She didn't smile back. He didn't expect her to. It was going to take a lot of time and effort, but he believed he could get her to come around eventually.  
  
About half a minute of silence passed, and then Indira spoke. "What does the I stand for?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"When you knocked on the door, and I asked who it was, you said, 'Dippet, Armando I.'," she said. "What does the I stand for?"  
  
"Oh." He should have guessed. "Icarus."  
  
"Armando Icarus Dippet," she said. "Very nice."  
  
"Thank you. I've always liked it. What's your middle name?" It was a rather pointless question; he already knew her middle name - both of them, in fact - but it was a good way to make conversation.  
  
"Catherine, after my mother."  
  
"Indira Catherine Nay," he said. "Very nice."  
  
She almost smiled.  
  
He sensed that conversation had reached its end and decided to move on to another topic. "Are you fond of Shakespeare?" he asked.  
  
"May I ask why?" she returned.  
  
"Well, I've been reading 'Hamlet' for a while now, and I was wondering if you could discuss it with me." It seemed like an innocent, friendly topic.  
  
At this, Indira truly came alive. Her eyes grew wide with excitement, and she leaned toward him and gestured with her hands as she spoke. "That is by far the most frustrating piece of literature I've ever read!" she said. "Take Hamlet, for instance. He just stands around feeling sorry for himself when he should have been channeling his grief into doing something productive, like getting revenge. And then, even after he knows it was Claudius who killed his father, he doesn't do anything about it! 'To be or not to be', my... right foot. When he finally works up the nerve to go kill the man, he backs out and decides to go confront his mother instead. And then he kills Polonius! Not that he knew it was Polonius, but just the same, he spends half the play thinking about whether or not he should kill Claudius, and then he just stabs the person behind the tapestry without a second thought!"  
  
She stopped talking when she noticed that Dippet was smiling. "What?"  
  
"Nothing," he said. "I just never knew you had such an interest in Shakespeare. Any others I should know about?"  
  
"Exploring, hand-to-hand combat, and classical music," she said.  
  
"An interesting combination," he commented.  
  
"What about you?"  
  
"Astronomy, but you probably gathered that much," he said. "Others include history, Quidditch, and violin."  
  
Indira nearly jumped. "Violin?" she repeated. "Do you play?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
"Who's your favorite composer?"  
  
Dippet was surprised at how easy it was to talk to her now that they had found some common ground. "At the moment, Shostakovitch," he said. "Soviet Muggle, rather brilliant, I must say. I think you would enjoy his work."  
  
"Shostakovitch... no, I don't believe I've heard of him."  
  
"Excellent composer. I'll play something of his for you sometime, if you like."  
  
"I'd like that. Thank you."  
  
They spent the next half hour discussing music. Finally, Dippet pointed out that it was getting late and that sleep deprivation would not prove beneficial to either of them. Indira agreed with him, and walked him to the door.  
  
"Good night, Indira," Dippet said, placing his hand on the doorknob. "Thank you for the pleasure of your company."  
  
She doubted that he found her company pleasurable, but was grateful that he was at least trying. "Thank you, Headmaster," she said. "Good night, sir."  
  
Dippet couldn't help feeling that their conversation hadn't accomplished much. True, they had found soem common interests, and he discovered that she wasn't completely bitter and stone-hearted after all - just partially - but if they were going to be friends, they weren't off to a very good start. After over half an hour of friendly conversation, she was still addressing him formally. Would that ever change? Would they ever be friends? And most importantly, would he ever be able to tell her what he knew?  
  
It might have made him feel a little better if he knew that that night, she slept better than she had in the last twenty years. 


	8. In which Paul becomes very, very angry

~~~

Chapter Eight: In which Paul becomes very, very angry

- February 23, 1945 -

~~~

            They lost.

            Paul Garrett was furious.  He couldn't believe it.  Slytherin lost the Quidditch game to that Mudblood Shirley Jones and her ragtag team of Hufflepuffs, 310-50.  It was the worst defeat they had suffered in years.  And there was nothing he could have done to stop it.

            He didn't speak to anyone as he stormed back up to the castle after the game.  His latest girlfriend, a fourth-year Slytherin named Linda Manning, started to approach him, but saw what a rotten mood he was in and backed off.  No one else dared to even think about going near him.

            The Slytherin common room was deserted when he got there.  This didn't surprise him; everyone else was still coming in from the game.  He thought about sitting down on one of the couches, but decided he didn't want to be around when people started coming in, so he went up to his dormitory and sat on his bed instead.  He resisted the urge to punch the wall as he went up the stairs.  They lost.  They lost to Hufflepuff.  If they lost to Gryffindor, or even Ravenclaw, it would have been different, but Hufflepuff?  That was too much.

            He let out a long sigh, laid down, and stared at the ceiling.  He didn't even realize how much time had gone by until David Brown, another sixth-year on the Quidditch team, came into the dormitory and sat down on his own bed.  David was silent for a few minutes, then said, "We needed you."

            Paul rolled over and looked at David.  David was a Beater; tall and muscular, with a shaved head and a hawk-like face.  "I know."

            "Monet wasn't bad, but… well, the team's not used to him, and… we needed you."

            "Tell that to Nay."

            David snorted.  "Can you believe Alastor didn't even _try to get you back on the team?"_

            "He's dating Minerva's best friend.  What would that have done?" Paul asked.  "Besides, Nay wouldn't listen to him."  He sighed.  "I hate that sadistic bitch.  I wish she was dead."

            "Well, I don't think anyone would miss her if that happened."

            "Dippet might.  I hate him, too.  Idiot."

            "Where'd you hear that?"

            "Tom, who heard it from Alastor, who heard it from Arabella, who heard it from Minerva, who was told by Dumbledore that Dippet's been spending a lot of time with her."

            "Why?"

            "Brown, I know you're a Beater and all, but don't tell me you're that thick," said Paul.  "She might be a sadistic bitch, but she's a _gorgeous sadistic bitch."  He sat up.  "Let's put two and two together here.  Dippet: moronic ex-Astronomy instructor who has probably never slept with a woman in his life despite his uncanny resemblance to Humphrey Bogart.  Nay: gorgeous sadistic bitch who would probably be more than willing to go the extra mile to get ahead, if you take my meaning."_

            David blinked.  "No, I don't."

            Paul rolled his eyes.  "Never mind.  Is Riddle back?"

            David nodded.  "He's down in the common room with Moody and the rest of the team.  Last I checked, they were alone; no one's brave enough to go near them."

            Paul got off his bed.  "Then that's where I'm going."

            Sure enough, when Paul got there, the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team were the only people in the common room.  Linden Monet, his replacement, was sitting in a corner by himself, staring at the floor.  Alastor, who, in addition to being captain, was the other Beater, was sitting on a couch next to Tom, who played Chaser.  Fifth-year Colin Davison, the other Chaser, was in a chair near the couch occupied by Tom and Alastor.  The Keeper, fourth-year Natalie Ranstrom, and the Seeker, sixth-year Bianca Netzel, were sobbing on each others' shoulders.  They all looked exactly like he felt.

            Alastor was the first to notice Paul come in.  "Hey, Garrett," he said dryly.

            "Hard to believe it, huh?" Paul asked, sitting down on the couch next to Tom.

            "We needed you," Tom told him.

            "I know," Paul said loudly.  Linden looked up at him for a second, then back at the floor.  "So what place are we in now?"

            "Fourth," Colin spat.  "And Hufflepuff's in second."

            Paul groaned.  He figured as much, but even so…  "I can't believe we lost to a bunch of Mudlboods."  Five people on Hufflepuff's Quidditch team, including captain and Seeker Shirley Jones, were Muggle-born.

            "Even so, they're good," Alastor said.  "We've got to give them that.  Jones is the best Seeker Hogwarts has had so far this century.  She'll probably turn professional."

            "She is," Bianca choked, wiping at her eyes.  "Someone told me she's received offers from the Chudley Cannons and Holyhead Harpies."

            "Minerva's already signed on with the Montrose Magpies," Alastor commented in an offhand tone of voice.  As soon as the words left his lips, though, he wished he hadn't said anything.

            In an instant, Paul was on his feet.  "_WHAT?!?"_

            "You didn't know?" Alastor asked, even though he knew it was a bad excuse.  To the best of his knowledge, the only other students besides Minerva who knew yet were himself and Arabella.

            Paul looked ready to kill someone.  "The Montrose Magpies took _her?  After that… that _stroke of luck_?!?"_

            "It wasn't luck," Alastor said.  "She's the best Quidditch player in the school.  She always _has been.  You said it yourself last year, remember?"_

            Paul narrowed his eyes.  "Things change."

            "Or maybe you only said that to get her to go out with you."

            Paul took a step toward Alastor.  "It sounds to me like you're just jealous that I had Minerva while you were stuck with her little sidekick."

            Now Alastor standing, too.  "I was dating Arabella for over a _year before you and Minerva got involved!" he snapped, pointing his finger at Paul._

            "Only because Minerva turned you down."

            Alastor bit the inside of his cheek and counted to five in his head.  That was partially true; Minerva _had_ been his first choice, but that was a long time ago.  "That was a long time ago," he said out loud, just to make it sound more convincing to himself.

            Paul wasn't biting.  "Keep telling yourself that."

            Tom decided to intervene before it got ugly.  He stood up and stepped between them.  "That's enough," he said.  "You both need to knock it off before you do something you'll regret.  Sit down."

            They sat, but continued to glare at each other.

            Tom decided to change the subject to something they could all agree on.  "If you want to blame anyone for what happened today, blame Professor Nay.  She's the one who kicked you off the team, Paul."

            Alastor was still angry enough at Paul to think that he probably deserved it, but didn't want to say that in front of the team after suffering their worst defeat in who knew how long.

            Sure enough, Paul completely forgot about the confrontation between him and Alastor.  "Nay," he hissed.  "That… I swear I'm going to kill her."

            "Don't make death threats unless you intend to follow through with them," Tom said casually.  Murder was nothing new to him.

            "Just wait," Paul spat.  "I'd rather spend life in Azkaban than know she's still breathing."

            Those were strong words, but Tom decided it would be better to wait and see if Paul's bite was as bad as his bark.

            "Why do you hate her so much, anyway?" asked Natalie.

            Paul stared at the fourth-year Keeper for a moment, then said, "Why _shouldn't_ I?  The only person in this school that even pretends to like her is Dippet, and I think it's obvious why.  In fact, I bet they're together right now…"

            Paul was almost correct; Armando Dippet and Indira Nay _were_ together, but they were not doing anything along the line of what Paul was suggesting to his fellow Slytherins.  They weren't even alone.  They were walking back up to the school from the Quidditch pitch with three other teachers: Jason Rose, who taught Charms; Arielle Turner, the Potions instructor; and Alain Haas, the Arithmancy instructor and head of Hufflepuff.  All five were silent for the first half of their journey, and then Indira spoke.  "Your team did well, Professor Haas."

            Haas was almost surprised that she said that.  She rarely spoke to him anyway, and he didn't expect her to after her house's Quidditch team lost so badly to his.  "Uh… thank you, Professor Nay.  Slytherin just wasn't on top of their game today.  I'm sure they'll do better next time."

            "They needed Paul Garrett," Rose commented.

            "No, they didn't," Indira replied with a hint of anger to her voice.  "Garrett did this to himself.  He should have thought before he acted."  She sighed.  "But this is hardly the time or the place for a conversation we've had several times before."

            "Indira, I'm curious," Arielle said.  "What Garrett did was wrong, but… don't you think you're overreacting just a _little_?  What happened to make you like this?"

            Dippet winced involuntarily, but luckily, no one noticed.  Rose, Haas, and Arielle were all looking at Indira to see what her reaction would be.  He looked at her, too, wondering what he could possibly do if it turned ugly.

            Indira pressed her lips into a thin line.  Her dark green eyes were piercing under normal circumstances, but now, the look in them was downright menacing.  "Nothing," she said bitterly.  "My past is of concern to no one."

            She left them with no further words, and began walking back up to the school at a rapid pace.

            Dippet sighed.  That was better than he'd anticipated, but it still wasn't good.

            "I don't understand her," said Rose.  "Why doesn't she tell us anything?  Maybe we could help her."

            Arielle snorted.  "Help Indira Nay?  We've been _trying to help here for years.  No one understands her.  She won't let anyone get close enough to try!"_

            "What about you, Armando?" asked Haas.  "She… _seems to like you.  Has she confided in you at all?"_

            He shook his head.  "Indira doesn't believe in confiding.  She's… she's been hurt.  Deeply.  No one understands her because, well, we can't." 

            "It sounds to me like you know something about her, Armando," Arielle said.  "Can you tell us?"

            "They're not my secrets to tell," Dippet replied, "and I cannot say that I blame Indira for her reluctance to divulge them."

            "So you know about her," Rose concluded.  "How?"

            "I knew her parents," Dippet answered.  "They were the ones that brought her… situation… to my attention."

            "It's that bad, huh?" asked Arielle.

            He shook his head.  "No, Arielle, it's much worse."

            He excused himself and hurried toward the school, hoping to catch up to Indira before she got too far.

            He caught up to Indira just outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.  "Wait," he called as she touched the door's handle.

            She pulled her hand away from the door and looked at him.  "What, came to press the matter further?  I told you, it's no one's concern."

            "_You _are my concern, Indira," he said, "and I came her to talk about… actually, now that I think about it, I don't have anything in mind."

            At that moment, she came closer to smiling than she had in twenty years.  "Well, isn't there something you should be doing, then?"

            He thought of the stacks of paperwork on his desk and said, "Yes, but… but some things are more important."

            "I don't know if I've ever told you this, Armando, but you're a good friend.  Thank you for your concern."

            It occurred to him that that was the first time she'd ever called him by his first name.  "You're welcome," he said, "but that really isn't necessary."

            "You're just doing your job, right?" she asked.

            "No.  I'm doing what I believe is right, and my only regret is that I wish I knew how to do more."

            They made eye contact, and slowly but surely, moved closer to each other.  They were just about to kiss when Indira suddenly pulled away.  "No," she said.  "I… I can't.  This is wrong."

            _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ Dippet thought to himself, wishing someone would kick him.  He should have known better than to try to kiss her.  "I'm sorry."

            "I've got a lot of work to do," Indira said, opening the door to her classroom.  "Good night, Professor Dippet."

            She closed the door behind her as fast as she could without slamming it.  Dippet stared at it for a few minutes, sighed, then said, "Good night, Indira."

A/N: I know you're all just dying to hear just what Indira's problem is (yeah right), and it is my pleasure to inform you that you don't have long to wait.  Part of the truth shall be revealed in the next chapter, and the rest will come along probably the chapter after that.  Spoiler quote: "I think I've just figured out why Professor Nay hates Grindelwald so much." – Minerva.  Yay.  Good night.


	9. In which Minerva makes an interesting di...

~~~

Chapter Nine: In which Minerva makes an interesting discovery

- March 4, 1945 –

~~~

            After classes that day, Minerva, Arabella, Alastor, and Tom went down to the library together do some research for the project that had just been assigned to them in Defense Against the Dark Arts.  The seventh-years were nearing the end of their dark wizards unit, and the project was to write a report on a dark wizard of their choice.  The four of them were excited about this project, but only one had decided which wizard to write about: Minerva.  It became obvious to her within seconds after receiving the assignment.  The other four were not yet sure on theirs.

            "This is kind of exciting," Arabella commented as they went into the library.  "I think I'm going to like this project."

            "It's _very exciting," Tom said.  "Do you think anyone will do the same one?"_

            "Have you three decided on who you're going to do yet?" Minerva asked.

            "I've been leaning toward Majken Locke," said Arabella.  "Longest reign of terror, defeated by Merlin… need I go on?"

               "Either Xiang Sae-Yin or Alden Kaluza," Alastor said.  "Both of them are fascinating.  Tom?"

            Tom thought for a moment, then answered.  "Indira Nay."  All of them except Minerva laughed, and then he said, "No, I'm joking; I think I'll go with Jakaate Lynch.  What about you, Min?"

            "Erich Rainier," Minerva replied without any hesitation.

            "Erich Rainier… Grindelwald?" Arabella asked.

            Minerva nodded.  "Grindelwald."

            "But… won't that be hard?" said Arabella.  "Most of the stuff about Grindelwald is just speculation."

            "Ari, this is _Minerva we're talking about," said Tom.  "She won't even __try something unless the odds are next to impossible."_

            Minerva smiled and said, "Yes, I know it'll be hard, but I think it'll be worth it.  Has Professor Nay ever mentioned Grindelwald to Slytherin and Ravenclaw?  She hasn't to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff."

            "Never," Alastor said, shaking his head.  "Harry Landis, you know, from Ravenclaw, asked about Grindelwald once, and she completely ignored him."

            "Maybe it's personal," Arabella suggested.  "Do you think she knew someone that was killed by Grindelwald?"

            "Well, Dumbledore's sister was killed by Grindelwald, and he's nothing like Nay," Minerva said.  "Unless it was her whole family or something – which I doubt, because the only time Grindelwald killed an entire family was in the case of the Rahminis and there were no survivors – I don't see why she wouldn't have put it behind her by now."

            "Just forget about her," Tom said.  "She's got issues.  She's not all right in the head.  And she's not worth our time."

            They set their book bags down on a table and agreed to meet back there in a few minutes, after they had all found some material to take notes on.  Minerva was the first one back; she knew beforehand that most of her information would come from newspaper articles, so she was back at the table with a book containing all the issues of the _Daily Prophet_ from the year 1929.  The last to get back was Alastor, who was carrying four books about Alden Kaluza and grumbling about how all the interesting things about Xiang Sae-Yin were written in Chinese.

            "Well, Xiang Sae-Yin was a Chinese wizard, Alastor," Minerva pointed out as she flipped through the _Daily Prophet anthology, searching for something about Grindelwald.  "What did you expect?"_

            "A translation," Alastor replied, sitting down next to Arabella and across from Tom.

            "So, Ari, you decided on Majken Locke for sure?" Minerva asked, glancing up at the girl across from her.

            Arabella nodded.  "Uh-huh.  I'm glad I did, too.  She's fascinating.  She discovered the Cruciatus Curse!  I didn't know that."

            "Jakaate Lynch invented A.K." said Tom.

            Minerva frowned.  She found it somewhat disturbing that Tom could speak of the Killing Curse so casually.

            "Alden Kaluza took over most of South America," Alastor commented, opening the book on top of his pile.

            Alastor, Tom, and Arabella all looked at Minerva.

            It took Minerva a few seconds to realize they expected her to say something about Grindelwald.  "Oh!" she said.  "Well, Grindelwald was the Minister of Magic."  She turned a page in the anthology, and her eyes widened.  "Oh, this looks promising: St Mungo's healer murdered.  Woman's death suspected to be work of dark wizard."

            "Let us know," Arabella said, and they all went back to reading.

            A few second later, Minerva gasped.  "It can't be…"

            "What?" the other three asked in unison, leaning in toward her.

            She blinked several times, then looked up at her friends.  "I think I've just figured out why Professor Nay hates Grindelwald so much."

            "Why?" Tom asked.

            "Look at this," Minerva said, turning the large book toward him.  "Catherine Nay, found murdered in her home September seventh, 1929.  Believed to be the work of Grindelwald."

            "I don't see what you're getting at, Minerva," Alastor said.  "Catherine Nay is probably a pretty common name."

            "Yes," Minerva said, pointing to the end of the article, "but Indira is not."

            "So that's it," Tom said.  "Grindelwald killed her mother."  He looked at the black and white photograph of Catherine Nay above the article.  "You know, she doesn't look a thing like Professor Nay."

             "You're right; she doesn't," Alastor said, studying the photograph.  The shading indicated that Catherine Nay's hair was blonde, her skin was pale, and her eyes were a lighter color, probably blue.  She looked nothing like the dark-complexioned, exotic Indira Nay.

            "Must take after her father," Arabella suggested.

            "That must be it," Minerva concluded.  "Still, though, you'd think there'd be _some _resemblance…"

            "Read it out loud," said Tom.

            "All right."  Minerva cleared her throat and began to read.

ST. MUNGO'S HEALER MURDERED 

Woman's Death Suspected to be Work of Dark Wizard

            Yesterday, September 7th, the body of Catherine Nay, 42, a well-known St. Mungo's Healer, was found in her home outside of Cambridge.  The body was found by Nay's husband, Michael, 40, when he came home from after receiving an owl from St. Mungo's saying that she had not shown up or made contact with them.  Michael Nay, an executive at Gringotts Bank, said, "It's not like Catherine to miss work, and she was perfectly healthy when I left.  I knew something was wrong the minute I received the owl from St. Mungo's, and Apparated home at once."

            What Nay found when he arrived at his home was what remained of his wife's body.  According to authorities, Catherine's mutilated, decapitated torso was lying on the floor of the living area.  Her head, limbs, and internal organs were scattered throughout the house.  "This is clearly the work of an experienced killer," said Alexander Ross, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, "and we believe we know which experienced killer it is: the dark wizard Grindelwald."

            In an exclusive interview with the _Daily Prophet_, Ross explained the reasoning behind this statement.  "Serial killers have patterns," said Ross.  "When Grindelwald really wants someone dead, like he did in this case, he makes his killings as brutal as possible.  Catherine Nay was not just murdered; she was butchered."

            Ross also said that this was the second most brutal murder by Grindelwald he'd seen, the first being the slaughter of the Rahmini family four years ago.  There is believed to be no connection between the murders.  Further investigation will verify whether that is true or not.

            Another question Ross and his department are asking themselves is what made Catherine Nay so special to the dark wizard.  "Grindelwald doesn't perform violent killings like this randomly," said a spokesperson for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.  "He was targeting her.  Something about her made him go out of his way and just slaughter her."

            Why Catherine Nay?  Her husband claims he cannot think of anything that would make her a target, as do close friends of the family.  "Grindelwald wanted to kill this woman so bad that he murdered her in her own home, fully aware that there could easily be witnesses," said Ross.  "Anton Rahmini exposed Grindelwald, and Grindelwald killed his family.  What did Catherine Nay do?  Did Grindelwald find her before she could use anything against him?  We may never know."

            St. Mungo's announced this morning that they plan to erect a memorial fountain in honor of Nay.  The current locations of Michael Nay and the couple's daughter, Indira, 11, are to remain undisclosed.  For more information on the case, see Page 5.

            Minerva finished the article and looked at the others.  "Well?"

            They were too shocked to speak.

            "Why didn't you tell me Grindelwald killed Catherine Nay?" Minerva asked Dumbledore later that night.  She had stopped by to say good night an hour earlier.  They got to talking and didn't stop; finally, though, she pointed out that she should be on her way, but she wasn't going to leave until she'd asked this question.  "Did you know?"

            Dumbledore nodded.  "Yes, I did know; I didn't think it was my place to tell you, though.  You believe that is why Professor Nay hates Grindelwald so much?"

            "Yes, but I don't know if that's why she's… like she is," she said.  "I mean, forgive me, but Grindelwald killed your sister, and you're… coherent."

            "Yes, I know, but Nay's always been like that," he said.  "She was at Hogwarts for a week before her mother was killed, and there was almost no change in her personality; she was more depressed than usual for several months, of course, but other than that…  I've stopped wondering about her, and you should, too."

            Minerva sighed and nodded.  "You're probably right.  It's just… I get the feeling that there's more to her than what we think.  A lot more."

            A small smile crossed Dumbledore's lips.  "Then you should be talking to the headmaster.  He's really the only one she gets along with.  I don't know how much he knows about her, but at least they're on speaking terms."

            "You're joking, right?" she asked.  "I mean, how would I do that?  'Excuse me, Professor Dippet, but I was just wondering… could you please tell me why Professor Nay hates the world?'  I could never do that."

            Dumbledore thought for a moment, then said, "You couldn't… but _I _could…"

            "Armando?  Can I ask you a question?"

            Dippet looked up from his paperwork at the man standing in front of his desk.  "You can ask," he told the deputy headmaster.

            "It concerns… Indira," Dumbledore said.

            Dippet stared at Dumbledore for a few moments, blinked, then said, "What about her?"

            "You care about her, don't you?"

            "In what context?"

            "You know what happened to her," Dumbledore said.  "She doesn't know you know.  You're not helping anyone by keeping it secret, especially her.  The rest of the faculty members are concerned, too, but we can't help her if we don't know what it is."

            "Nothing personal, Albus, but I don't think anyone can help her, anyway," Dippet replied.  "You're right, I _do know what happened to her, but that doesn't mean anything.  If it was revealed that I knew, all it could do is hurt her."_

            "You don't _know that," Dumbledore said, placing his hand on Dippet's desk and leaning forward._

            "Why are you so interested?"

            "I'm not trying to steal her from you, if that's what you're getting at."

            "I don't know what you're talking about," Dippet said, although he knew exactly what Dumbledore meant.

            "Never mind," said Dumbledore.  "I'm interested because I don't like the idea of having a complete stranger as my colleague."  That was true; he was pressing Dippet for questions not just for Minerva, but for himself, too.  He'd always wondered about Indira and what could have possibly happened to make her the way she was.

            Dippet sighed, stood up, walked over to Dumbledore, and looked him in the eyes.  Dumbledore was the taller of the two, but not by much.  "I'm not going to lie to you, Albus," Dippet said.  "I know you are a much more powerful wizard than I am.  I know you are perfectly capable of entering my mind and finding out for yourself, but I also know that you are too noble to resort to such actions.  I know that you could have been headmaster if you applied for the job, but you didn't, so I did, and now I'm here.  If you will not heed my word as a friend respecting the wishes of another friend, then you will as a teacher accepting an order from the headmaster.  They are Indira's secrets, not mine.  I did not choose to discover them; they were revealed to me.  What I will tell you, though, is that she has been through an ordeal of unspeakable horror."

            The two men stared each other down for a few more seconds, and then Dumbledore spoke.  "All right," he said.  "You won't tell me.  I understand.  But do you know who you should tell?  Indira."

            Dumbledore didn't wait for Dippet to reply.  He excused himself and left the headmaster's office.  Dippet watched him go, then let out a long sigh.  As much as he didn't want to admit it, Dumbledore was right.  He wasn't helping anyone by doing this.  It was time for the truth to come out.  For the last twenty years, he thought he'd been helping Indira by keeping her past a secret, and it did nothing for her.  There was only one way to find out if he could help her now.


	10. In which Armando and Indira talk

A/N: And heeeeeere it is… the chapter you've all been waiting for… ha.  Whether you've been waiting for it or not, here it is.  I worked hard on this one, so enjoy!

~~~

Chapter Ten: In which Armando and Indira talk

-  An hour later that same day -

~~~

            _I can't believe I'm doing this_, Dippet thought as he lifted his fist to knock on the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.  He'd thought about this day many times before, but never imagined it would actually come.  And now here he was, just seconds away from telling Indira Nay the last thing she wanted to hear: that her secrets weren't as secret as she thought they were.

            He knocked.  A few seconds passed, and then he heard her voice.  "Enter."

            He expected to see her at her desk.  Instead, she was standing near a cupboard in one corner of the room.  Her wand was in one hand, and the other hand was fidgeting with the end of her braid.  "Hello, Headmaster," she said when she saw that it was him.  "May I inquire as to why you have elected to disgrace yourself with my presence?"

            "We need to talk," Dippet said as he walked over to join her by the cupboard.

            She pointed her wand at the cupboard.  "Nothing personal, but I'm a little preoccupied at the moment."

            "A boggart?" he guessed.

            The cupboard shook.

            "Yes," she confirmed.

            "No problem," Dippet said, reaching for his wand.

            "Excuse me, but I believe _I am the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor at this school," Indira snapped.  "Now, if you would be so kind as to leave me alone so I can take care of-"_

            "But Indira," he said, "surely you, as the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, know that it is much easier to deal with a boggart when there is more than one person.  It gets confused and doesn't know which shape to assume."

            "I am _perfectly capable of eliminating this boggart by myself, sir."_

            "I know you are," Dippet said.  "But you're _not perfectly capable of risking letting me see whatever it is you're most afraid of, are you?"_

            Indira glared at him.  "What's it to you?"

            "I just want to help you." 

            "Thank you for the offer, but I don't think you can help me."

            "So why don't you open the cupboard and find out?"

            "Why don't you just leave me alone?" she asked, putting her wand away.

            "Because you've been alone for too long," he said.  "And you're not alone.  Not anymore."  He noticed that a section of her hair had worked itself loose from the braid.  "Hold still," he told her, and reached out to brush it aside.

            She winced involuntarily, as if he were about to strike her.  "It's all right," he said.  "Just let me-"

            "I'll get it," she said, and brushed absentmindedly at her hair.

            The strands didn't go anywhere.  "Indira, just let me-"

            "No!" she insisted, and stepped back.  "I can take care of it."

            He always knew it was bad, but now it seemed worse than he ever thought.  "Hold still," he said, much more firmly than before.  "I'm not going to hurt you.  Just hold still."

            She wanted to trust him, but she had too much experience with those words to make trusting him an easy task.  She closed her eyes and braced herself, as if expecting him to strike her.  It took all of her self-control to keep from moving when his fingers brushed her skin as he tucked the hair behind her ear.  A few seconds went by, and she dared to open her eyes.  "See?" he said.  "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

            "You don't understand," she said, avoiding eye contact with him.

            "You're right, I don't understand," he replied.  "I'm not going to pretend that I do.  What I can do, though, is let you know that you can't go on living in fear like this.  You have to let go of the past."

"What do you mean?" she asked, unable to believe her ears.  He couldn't possibly...

"I know."

            "What do you know?"

            "I know why you can't sleep at night.  I know why you've cut yourself off from anyone you ever loved, and why you always push people away," Dippet said.  "I know why you flinch every time someone touches you.  I know who you are."  He sighed, glanced at the floor, and then looked up at her.  "You weren't named after your mother."

            "What are you talking about?"

            "Your middle name," he said.  "You weren't named after your mother.  Your mother's name was Celeste and your middle name is Jolenta."

            She glared at him and shook her head.  "I think you've got me confused with someone else."

            "Do I?"  He took a step toward her.  "Madeline?"

            He knew Indira wouldn't respond well to that.  Her eyes grew wide with shock, her mouth dropped open, and she took a step back.  He didn't even blink when she slapped him across the face.  "Never," she hissed, "say that name again!"  She then covered her eyes with her hand and turned away, struggling to force all the painful memories that name produced out of her mind.  She was unsuccessful; being able to fight back neither the images nor the tears.

            His face stung from where she had struck him, but that was the least of his concerns.  He reached out to place his hand on her shoulder, but she spun around and backed away from him as if he was carrying a horrible disease.  "How dare you?" she said. "How dare you assume you know anything about my past?  You have no idea what happened to me!"

Dippet took a deep breath and tried to stay calm.  He could see his last chance to reach out to her slipping away.  "You're wrong," he said.  "I do know what happened.  I was the one who processed your admissions information and insisted that you be given a full scholarship.  Your brilliance aside, I knew you needed protection, and Hogwarts was the only place that could give it to you."

            She did not respond.

            He continued.  "There are people that care about you, Indira, and want to help you, but they can't do that if you don't let them in."

            "How much do you know?"  Her voice had lost its anger and was now soft and weak.

            "Everything."

            "So, is that why you always acted like you cared about me so much?  Is that why you were always so patient with me?  Because you knew what I'd been through?"

            "For a while, yes," he answered.  "Then, about six weeks ago, I decided to look deeper and see if there was anything beneath all the anger and pain.  When I did, I discovered one of the strongest, most incredible people I've ever known."

            "I'm not Madeline Rahmini anymore, Professor Dippet," Indira said.

            She sighed, walked over to the front row, and sat down on a table.  Dippet followed her.  "How did you find out?" she asked, and began rubbing her eyes with her hand.

            "Michael Nay," he answered.  "You know there was a Fidelius Charm hiding you from Grindelwald while you were at Hogwarts, right?"

            She nodded.  "Yes, he told me after… after Catherine was murdered."  She dropped her hand and looked at him.  "You were the Secret-Keeper, weren't you?"

            He replied in the affirmative.

            "But why me?  I wasn't the one that needed protection."  Tears left their wet trails on her cheeks, and she didn't bother to wipe them away.  "Catherine was the one he killed."

            "Because he was trying to find you," Dippet said.  "She knew he would kill her if she told him how to get to you or not, so…"  There was no need for him to continue.

            "I wish… I wish he had just killed me."

            "How can you say that?" he asked, sitting down next to her on the table.  The thought of losing this woman he'd come to care about against his will was almost unbearable.

            Indira turned her head and looked at him.  "You don't know what he did to me, do you?"

            "Not… details," he admitted.  "I knew he held you prisoner for-"

            "A year," she interrupted.  "He had me for a year before I escaped, that disgusting…  Do you know what it's like to hate someone so much that it… that it just _consumes you?"_

            "No," he said quietly.

            She looked at the floor and closed her eyes.  "I was only seven years old," she said in soft, trembling voice.  "Only seven years old when he…"

            "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Dippet said, "but if you do, I'll listen."

            She covered her face, nodded, and whispered a choked, "Thank you."  A few seconds passed, and her hands went down to her lap; her eyes, however, remained closed.  "My father had been hearing rumors about Erich Rainier for years, and had always been suspicious of him.  We were getting ready to go into hiding when he exposed Rainier, but he found us first…"

~~~

            _"Anton, what-"_

_            "There's no time, Celeste!" Anton Rahmini cried.  "He's here, now!  You have to go!  Take the children and go!"_

_            "You can't take him alone, Anton!" his wife replied.  She plunged her hand inside her robes and pulled out her wand.  "He's too powerful!"_

_            "I can hold him off long enough for you and the children to escape," he insisted.  "Please, Celeste… go!"_

_            The girl with the vivid green eyes wide with fright hiding around the corner looked at her older sister.  "Lana, what can we do?"_

_            Lana was even more frightened than her; too scared to even speak._

_            "Lana, we have to do something!"  
            Celeste heard the girl's voice and dashed over to them, fear etched into her beautiful face.  "Lana, Madeline, you have to go," she told her two youngest daughters._

_            "But why?" Madeline asked.  "Why do we have to go?"_

_            "An evil man is coming," Celeste answered.  "He's already killed the guards, and he's going to kill you too unless you run away as fast as you can!"_

_            "Why?" inquired Madeline.  "Why does someone want to kill us?"_

_            "Just go!" Celeste cried.  "Please, Madeline!  No more questions!  Run!"_

_            "What's going on?" came the voice of sixteen-year-old Bala, the oldest child._

_            "Bala!" Celeste exclaimed.  She grabbed Madeline's hand and pressed it into Bala's.  "Get the others and run!  You've got to get out!"_

_            Bala, who was old enough to understand what was going on, gasped and covered her mouth.  "Grindelwald?"_

_            Celeste nodded.  Tears were streaming down her face.  "I love you," she said, quickly embracing her daughters.  "Now go!"  She gave them a gentle push for emphasis, then raced back to join Anton._

_            "No!" Madeline said as Bala began towing her away.  "We have to help!"_

_            "We can't help, Madeline!" Bala said, picking her little sister up.  "Lana, come on!"_

_            Lana didn't need to be told twice.  Madeline struggled to break free of Bala's grip, but Bala was too strong.  They raced down the hall and rounded a corner, heading for the back door.  Bala cried out the names of their other siblings as they ran. "Jaden!  Palak!  Kyla!  Jelani!  We have to go!  Now!"_

_            An explosion rocked the house.  Lana screamed.  Bala screamed, too, but for a different reason – the back door had been magically sealed shut.  "We're trapped!" she cried._

_            "Let – me – GO!" Madeline shouted, struggling harder than ever._

_            Another scream rang through the house, and then was silenced.  Celeste's._

_            Bala could no longer hold on to Madeline, and had no choice but to let go.  Madeline began sprinting back toward her parents, but she didn't get far before someone else grabbed her – Palak, her oldest brother.  "No, Madeline!" he said.  "We can't go back there!"_

_            "We can't go this way, either!" Bala sobbed.  "It's sealed!"_

_            "Where are Jelani and the twins?" Palak asked._

_            "I don't know!" Bala said._

_            "WE HAVE TO FIGHT HIM!" Madeline screamed._

_            "We can't fight him, Madeline!" Palak said.  "He's too powerful!"_

_            "HE'LL KILL THEM!!"_

_            "They're already dead," came the frightened voice of ten-year-old Jelani, who was standing behind Palak with a desperate, terrified look on his face._

_            "In here!" Palak said, opening the nearest door.  It was the twins' bedroom.  "Kyla, Jaden, wake up!  We're under attack!"_

_            "The window!" Bala exclaimed, and dashed toward the window.  "No!" she said upon seeing that it, too, was sealed._

_            "Why is someone trying to kill us?" asked Lana._

_No one answered her.  Madeline's struggling soon became too much for Palak, and she broke free of him and ran toward the door.  The idea that a seven-year-old couldn't possibly do any damage to the most powerful dark wizard in the world never occurred to her; she was too blinded by anger and fear to care._

_            "Madeline, NO!" Bala screamed, and raced after her.  Palak, Lana, Jelani, and the twins, Jaden and Kyla, were close behind her._

_            Bala was screaming for a different reason when they got to the hall.  Grindelwald was standing there, a wand in his left hand and a bloody dagger in his right.  Palak reached out and grabbed Madeline before she could get far, but he wasn't holding on to her for long; shortly after he seized her, the words "Avada Kedavra" left Grindelwald's lips, and green light shot through him, killing him instantly._

_            Bala took Madeline again and started running, but less than two seconds went by before she was dead, too.  Grindelwald was ready to kill Madeline next, but she did something he didn't expect – wriggled herself free of her dead sister's arms and came at him.  He laughed.  What did this child think she could do against him?_

_            Madeline grabbed his left arm and tried to wrestle his wand out of his hand.  Grindelwald pushed her to the floor and continued on down the hall.  He would come back and deal with her later.  She, however, did not want to wait – she got up and came after him again.  "Leave us alone!" she cried, beating him with her fists._

_            Grindelwald struck her across the face, then raised his wand in preparation to kill her.  Just before he was about to say the words, though, a better idea crossed his mind.  His lips worked themselves into a sneer.  "Petrificus totalus!"_

~~~

            "He forced me to watch as he slaughtered my family," Indira said.  "I thought he would kill me after that, but… but he didn't.  It was so much worse than death…"  She couldn't go on.

            Dippet could only imagine what it would be like, but even in his imagination, it was terrible beyond words.  No one should have had to endure the horror she did, especially a child; tortured, raped, abused in every way possible for a year before finally escaping…  He didn't know how she got away, but he got the impression that now was not the time to ask.

            She glanced over at him.  "Are you still here?"

            "Where else would I go?" he asked.

            "I don't know… anywhere."

            "Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not leaving."

            "Do you know what happens to anyone who cares about me?" she asked.  "They _die.  Grindelwald finds them and he kills them."_

            He placed his hand on her back.  She didn't move.  "Then let him come."

            Nearly a minute passed before either one of them moved.  It was Dippet who broke the stillness; he stood up, kissed her on the forehead, and began walking toward the door.

"Wait," Indira said before he could get far.  She stood, too, and walked over to him.  "Please… don't leave."

            "I will stay as long as you need me to."

            A bittersweet smile flickered on her lips for a moment, the first in twenty years.  "Then you might be here all night."

            They embraced each other, and all the anger, pain, and heartache that had been accumulating in her soul for the last twenty years came pouring out.  It was almost dawn before her tears ran dry.


	11. In which the boggart is defeated

A/N: This chapter (if it can be called a chapter, ha ha) is dedicated to Sue, who wanted to know what happened to the boggart.  ^_^

~~~

Chapter Eleven: In which the boggart is defeated

- March 5, 1945 –

~~~

            After escorting Indira Nay to her chambers and making sure she went to sleep, Armando Dippet returned to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom with Albus Dumbledore.  He didn't tell Dumbledore just what it was that haunted Indira, but he did tell him that she was aware of his knowledge of her past.  Dumbledore accepted this, and the subject was discussed no further.

            "One question, Armando," Dumbledore said when they entered the DADA classroom.  "Why are we here?"

            "You're welcome to go if there's something else you feel you could be doing," Dippet replied.  "I'm just going to take care of the boggart in the cupboard over there."

            "Oh," Dumbledore said.  He didn't have anything to do at the moment, so he decided to stay.  Besides, it would be interesting to see what the boggart turned in to.

            The cupboard shook as Dippet approached it, wand in hand.  He opened it, but to Dumbledore's surprise, nothing appeared.  A squeal came from the cupboard, and then a puff of smoke.  Dippet closed the cupboard and put his wand away.

            Dumbledore was astonished.  "How… what are you most afraid of?"

            Dippet looked at Dumbledore, and a hint of a smile flickered on his lips.  "Boggarts."

And now, something I've been putting off for far too long… notes to my wonderful reviewers.  These go out to everyone who's reviewed Ch. 8 and up.

anon. – Thanks for reading!

Aeryn Alexander – Indira is 27, nine years older than Minerva.  I know I said in The Play That Must Not Be Named that she's 16 years older than Minerva, but I changed my mind (and I'll change it there eventually).  And yes, Grindelwald is still after her… you'll find out why.

Lily Smith – So you were right, eh?  Good job and thanks for reading!

Mella deRanged – Tom Riddle is a very complex character, and I'm trying to portray him as such.  Sorry if he seems unrealistic.

Inca – Fear not, Armando doesn't die.  He has to stay alive; he appears in a story I'm writing set 50+ years later!  ^_^  Thanks for reading!

Minerva of Tortall – I figured people would be more sympathetic toward Indira after that last chapter, ha ha.  Thanks for reading!

Personne Aline Folle (Lana, ha ha) – That IS weird.  Hope you keep reading!

Sue – Glad you like Indira; I like her too.  And your question was answered with this chapter.  ^_^

GEM – Thanks!

Child-of-the-Dawn – Yes, I like bloody deaths, mwa ha ha.  Thanks for reading!

isabelle3 – Thanks!

letylyf – Christian Coulson _is_ hot, isn't he?  *sigh*  ^_^  Hey, do you think you could send me that sorting hat song?

Laura Kay – Thanks!

CEA – There will be some AD/MM eventually, I promise!  *big smile*  (And I think you mean Trust No One… Trust Me is finished.  ^_^ )

BryteTwilight – Excuse me while I attempt to deflate; your compliment on the names is giving me a big head.  ^_^  Glad your enjoying the story!

Sanguine Quill – Thanks for reading!

petriebird18 – Thanks for reading!

Thanks again, everyone.  You're the bestest!

-Freelancer-


	12. In which Tom starts plotting

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Jestana, who is sick.  Get well soon!  ^_^

~~~

Chapter Twelve: In which Tom starts plotting

- March 10, 1945 -

~~~

            Minerva was on her way down to the Transfiguration department after classes to help Dumbledore with grading papers when a familiar male voice stopped her.  The voice belonged to none other than Tom Riddle, and he was walking toward her at a brisk pace.  She forced herself to smile at him.  Tom was one of her best friends, but she was in a hurry, and didn't really want to talk to anyone.

            "What's on your mind, Tom?" she asked as he drew closer.

            "I just want to talk to you," he replied.  "Is that allowed?"

            "Can it wait?" she returned.  "I have to be somewhere in a few minutes."

            "Where?"

            "Professor Dumbledore asked me to help him grade papers," she answered.

            "Really, now?" Tom asked, his interest perking.

            "Don't give me that," she said with more than a little exasperation in her voice.  "Honestly, what's with you people?"  She didn't understand why everyone was so interested in her relationship with Dumbledore.  It was completely professional… on school time, anyway.

            "Ah.  Well, in that case, will you go out with me?"

            Now _that, she did not expect.  "What?"_

            "There's a Hogsmeade visit next weekend," Tom said.  "I think it would be fun if we went together."

            Minerva pressed her hand to her forehead, closed her eyes, and sighed.  "Tom… you and I… no.  It would never work."

            "I think it would," he returned.

            She dropped her hand and opened her eyes.  "But what about Kelsie?"

            Tom sighed, and his gaze dropped to the floor.  "Kelsie… it's been over for a while.  It really has.  We both know it; we just haven't gotten around to saying it just yet.  Besides, haven't you noticed that she's been spending a lot of time with Barty Crouch?"

            Minerva nodded.  "Yes, I _have_ noticed."  Barty Crouch, a sixth-year Slytherin, had been appointed to the vacant prefect position after the incident a month earlier, and rumors were circulating that he was up for Head Boy.  Since Kelsie was a shoo-in for Head Girl, the two of them realized that it might be to their benefit to get friendly.

            "She's going to end up with Crouch any day now, and I don't blame her," said Tom.  "They have a lot more in common than we ever did.  So what do you say, Minerva?  I might still be with Kelsie 'officially', but just say the word, and I'm all yours."

            She couldn't believe this.  He was so arrogant.  "Tom Marvolo Riddle, that is just… no.  I can't."

            "Why not?  You're single, and I'm close enough."

            He was wrong; she _wasn't single, but she couldn't tell him that.  "That's not the point.  You're my friend, Tom.  You've never been anything more to me, and you never will.  Sorry."  She turned away from him and continued on her way.  "I'm late.  Good-bye."_

            Tom watched her go, and his lips twisted into a sneer.  He didn't care that he had just been rejected by a girl he'd always had a thing for.  This encounter was about something much more significant than a date.  He had accomplished his goal.

            "Good-bye," he replied to the silence, then began walking toward the Slytherin common room.

            Ordinarily, Dumbledore wouldn't be too concerned if Minerva was a few minutes late – she had a lot to do, between school and her duties as Quidditch captain and Head Girl – but this was different, he could tell.  She seemed upset about something, and he couldn't help but wonder what it could be.  "Are you all right?"

            "I'm fine," she replied, giving him a forced smile and taking her usual seat in the front row of desks.  "Got any papers?"

            Dumbledore got up from behind his desk, walked over to the front row, and sat down next to her.  "What happened?" he asked.

            His light blue eyes made contact with her dark, and they stared each other down for almost a minute.  Finally, Minerva cracked.  "Fine," she said, and sighed.  "Tom Riddle just asked me out."

            "He did?" Dumbledore said.  "What did you say?"

            She shot him a surprised look.  "No, of course.  I've never felt anything but friendship toward him, and that certainly isn't going to change now that I'm with you.  Forgive me if this is too bold, but… but I feel like you complete me."

            He smiled at her.  "No need to ask for forgiveness, unless it be for beating me to saying those words."

            She smiled back at him, and he didn't know when he had been happier.  _So this is what it's like to be in love, he thought to himself.  He rather liked the feeling.  In fact, the only thing he didn't like about their relationship was that it had to be kept a secret.  Someday the truth could come out.  Someday they would be able to declare their love for each other to the entire world._

But not yet.

            They gazed at each other for a little while longer.  It was Minerva who pointed out that they should get to work.  "You know, Albus, those papers aren't going to grade themselves."

            Dumbledore chuckled and pointed his wand at his desk.  "Always being productive, aren't you?" he said, and levitated the stack of papers that needed to be graded over to them.

            "Productivity is next to godliness," she replied, and took the first paper off the top of the stack.

            "I pity your future students," Dumbledore said, taking a sheet of paper himself.

            Minerva laughed.  "Whoever said anything about me becoming a teacher?"

            "No one; you just come off as the type that could end up being a teacher here someday."

            "Believe it or not, I've actually considered that before…"

            He grinned.  "I rest my case."

            "I want your job," she said teasingly.  "Watch out."

            "But then where would I go?"

            "What do you mean by that?  You'll still be right here.  Headmaster, I bet."

            "Headmaster?  Me?  Psh," he said dismissively.

            "Just you wait, Professor Dumbledore," Minerva said.  "You're the greatest wizard in the world, and someday, the whole world will know it."

            "Minerva's with Dumbledore."

            Paul Garrett shot Tom Riddle a surprised look.  "_What?"_

            Riddle nodded.  "You heard me.  She's with Dumbledore."

            Paul rolled his eyes and shook his head.  "That's ridiculous."

            "Is it?" Tom said quietly.

            Paul glared at Tom for a few moments, then said, "How do you know?"

            "You heard of Legilimency?"

            "Of course."

            Tom sighed and glanced upward.  "I haven't told anyone this, but I've been studying it for two years.  I just talked to Minerva a few minutes ago, and I found out."

            Paul didn't believe him.  "Prove you're a Legilimens."

            "You had sex with my girlfriend in the Astronomy tower last night."

            "Damn it, Riddle…"

            Tom laughed.  "See?  And don't worry about it.  Kelsie and I are as good as done."

            That got Paul to smile, but it didn't last long.  He frowned, narrowed his eyes, and clenched his fists.  "That whore," he said.  "Is that why she broke up with me?  Because she's with Dumbledore?"

            "I didn't find out," Tom admitted, "but I can…"

            "On what condition?" Paul asked, sensing that this would not come for free.

            Tom smirked.  He knew Paul would pick up on that.  He glanced around the Slytherin common room to make sure they were alone.  They were, but just in case, he leaned in close to Paul and spoke in a whisper.  "_Hee sona hai safa lo set sei ha_."

            Paul's eyes grew wide with shock, and he backed away.  "What did you say?" he choked.

            "That was Parseltongue for 'I want you to help me kill someone'," Tom said coolly.

            "You're… a Parselmouth?"

            "Yes," Tom answered.  "And not only that, I'm the last living descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself.  But listen, that's not important right now.  You think what I found out about Minerva was good?  In Defense Against the Dark Arts yesterday, I found out something even better.  It turns out that a certain individual has a _very interesting past.  I've got a plan, but I can't do it alone.  I need help.  __Your help.  You follow?"_

            "What's the plan?"

            "We're going to kill someone."

            "Who?"

            Tom's lips twisted themselves into a smirk.  "Who do you think?"

            Paul smiled.  "When do we start?"

            "I'm already on it," Tom replied.  "But it's complicated.  And dangerous."

            "How dangerous?" Paul asked.

            "It depends on how dangerous you consider the involvement of the most powerful wizard in the world."

            Now Paul was confused.  "Dumbledore?"

            Tom groaned and rolled his eyes.  "No, idiot.  Grindelwald."

            "_Grindelwald_?" Paul repeated.

            "Grindelwald."

            Paul took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "I don't know, Riddle… Grindelwald?  That's serious."

            Tom was starting to get annoyed.  "Look, Garrett, if you want her dead as much as you say you do, then you have to _get serious.  She and Grindelwald go _way_ back, and I'm sure he's _very_ interested in where she is now."_

            "But _why?  Why would she matter to Grindelwald?"_

            Tom smiled.  "Guess what her real name is?"

            Paul didn't understand.  "Where are you going with this?"

            "Just guess."

            "I don't know."

            "Madeline Rahmini."

            That was too much.  He had to sit down.  Paul found his way over to a couch and flopped down onto it, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes.  "Professor Nay is Madeline Rahmini?"

            Tom walked over to the couch and leaned up against the back of it.  "Uh-huh," he confirmed.  "Madeline Rahmini, the youngest daughter of the man who exposed Erich Rainier for the villain he is; the only survivor of the massacre of her family and his prisoner for a year."

            "Why did he let her live?" Paul asked.  "He should have just killed her along with the rest of them and made all our lives happier."

            "I don't know why he didn't kill her then, or why he kept her alive for so long, but I plan on finding out," said Tom.  "We're going to contact Grindelwald and see just how deep his obsession with her really is.  If it was enough to kill Catherine Nay sixteen years ago, it just might be enough to kill Madeline Rahmini now."

            Paul sat up and looked at his best friend.  "Okay, look.  When you told me about Catherine Nay getting murdered by Grindelwald, you said that it was called his most brutal killing since the Rahmini family and there was a theory that the two incidents were connected.  That connection is obviously Professor Nay, and Grindelwald has to know it.  That means he knows who she is.  If he wanted to kill her, he would have done it already."

            "He can't," said Tom.  "She's protected here; there's the all the enchantments on the school, for one thing, and for another, she's being concealed from him by a Fidelius Charm.  She could walk right up to him, and he would never know she's there.  The only way he could get to her is if there is an insider – or, rather, insider_s_."  He winked.  "Get it?"

            A smile slowly spread across Paul's face.  "Got it," he said.  "What do we have to do?"

            "First, we have to contact Grindelwald," Tom answered.  "If he agrees, the next step would be to neutralize that Fidelius Charm."

            "How do we do that?"

            "Dippet's the Secret-Keeper.  The Imperius Curse and a Memory Charm are all we need to switch it to either you or me and make him forget that it ever happened."

            Paul was almost starting to get scared.  He'd known for a long time that Tom had an interest in the Dark Arts, but this was something else.  This was a carefully thought-out plan that involved betrayal, the Unforgivable Curses, and murder.  It was easy to say that he'd rather spend life in Azkaban than see Indira Nay live, but it was a lot harder to deal with that thought when it was so close to become a reality.

            "And if we pull this off," Tom said, sensing Paul's thoughts, "no one will ever know we were involved.  Grindelwald will get all the credit for killing her, and the only person at Hogwarts they can accuse is Dippet, because to the best of his knowledge, he'll still be the Secret-Keeper."

            That was reassuring.  "All right, then," said Paul.  "I'm in."

They shook hands, and Tom said, "Congrats, Paul.  You're the first of Lord Voldemort's Knights of Walpurgis."

A/N: JKR said in an interview that the Death Eaters were called the Knights of Walpurgis at some point.  Whether or not they were called that initially is pure speculation on my part.  Also, I tried to make Tom seem more "evil" in this chapter; let me know how I did.  Thanks for reading, everyone!


	13. In which Tom and Paul meet Grindelwald

~~~

Chapter Thirteen: In which Tom and Paul meet Grindelwald

- March 16, 1945 -

~~~

            A few days later, Tom Riddle was chatting with Paul Garrett and Alastor Moody at lunch when owls began making their way into the Great Hall.  "Oh, look," said Alastor.  "The mail's here."

            "Wow, Alastor," Paul said with a wink.  "Aren't we observant?"

            "Shut up, Paul," Alastor replied, giving his friend a push.

            Tom was about to comment, but something else caught his attention first: a large, dark-colored eagle owl with menacing yellow eyes.  It dropped a letter in front of him, then flew away.  Tom picked up the letter.  His name was written on the front, and on the back were scrawled the following words: _If you value your life, do not open this until you are alone._

            A chill ran up Tom's spine.  Grindelwald.  It had to be.  "I'm going to class," he said, standing up.

            "Already?" Alastor asked.

            He nodded.  "Yeah.  See you there."  Without any further explanation, he left the Great Hall, clutching the letter as if it were the most valuable thing in the world.  And in many ways, it was.  If it was really what he thought it was, then it was the beginning of the end of all his troubles.

            Tom walked over to the top of the staircase just outside the Great Hall, glanced from left to right to make sure he was alone, then opened the letter.  It was from Grindelwald, all right, just as he had suspected.  He finished reading, then stuffed the letter into his pocket.  He noticed that his hands were shaking, and stuffed those in his pockets as well so no one else would see.

            Tom looked over his shoulder at the Great Hall, sighed, and headed for the Slytherin tower.  No way was he going to be able to concentrate in classes today.  Besides, his afternoon classes were Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts.  Between Albus Dumbledore and Indira Nay, one of them would be sure to see his mind was elsewhere, if not both.  It would be best to lie low until he could speak with Paul.

            "I thought you were going to class."

            Tom jumped and almost screamed.  "Damn it, Paul!" he said.  "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

            "Who's the letter from?" Paul asked.

            "In a minute," Tom said.  "Let's get to the common room first."

            Tom started walking, and Paul had to jog a few steps to catch up to him.  "What about class?" he asked.

            "Trust me, Paul," said Tom.  "When you find out who this is from, you won't want to go to class."

            "It's that good, huh?"

            "Better."

            Tom refused to go into more detail until they reached the Slytherin common room, but once they were there, he disclosed everything.  "Read this," he said, giving Paul the letter.  "It's from Grindelwald."

            Paul's jaw dropped.  "You're joking, right?"

            Tom rolled his eyes.  "Would I _joke_ about something like this?"

            Paul said nothing and opened the letter.

_Dear Mr. Riddle,_

_If your "proposal" is as good as you say it is, meet me in the __Forbidden__Forest__ at _midnight___ in the clearing with the fallen tree._

"That's it?" Paul said.  "How do you know it's not a hoax?"

            Tom smiled, and an evil glint appeared in his eyes.  "Because it's written in blood."

            "He's up to something,"

            "How do you know?"

            "I saw him on the way over here.  He looked at me, and he smiled, but it wasn't an honest one.  And he had this look in his eyes… I don't know how to describe it; eerie, I guess…"

            "That doesn't sound unusual."

            "Look, Albus, I know Tom Riddle, and I know when he's up to something.  And he's up to something."

            "You're right, Minerva.  You're right.  So what do you think it is?"

            "I wish I knew.  What do you think I should do?"

            "… I don't know.  I'm not going to tell you to stay away from him because I know you won't."

            "Of course not."

            "Well… I guess you could always follow him…"

            "How?"

            "Well, you _are an Animagus."_

            "Oh yes.  A cat following someone around.  Indoors.  _That's_ discrete."

            "Do you have an Invisibility Cloak?"

            "You're joking, right?"

            "Of course not.  Every Gryffindor should invest in an Invisibility Cloak."

            "Albus Dumbledore, you did not just say that."

            "I most certainly did, Minerva McGonagall.  Now do you have one or not?"

            "… Yes.  I thought it would come in handy if I became an Auror."

            "I'm proud of you.  Use the Invisibility Cloak.  Do what you feel you must."

            "And if I get caught?"

            He smiled at her.  "You won't."

            She smiled back at him and did not reply.

            "Oh, and Minerva?"

            "Yes?"

            "Be careful."

            "I always am."

            For the next several hours, Tom did absolutely nothing that indicated he was up to something he shouldn't be, and as the night drew on, Minerva considered dismissing her suspicions and going back to the Gryffindor tower.  It was almost midnight, and the Slytherin common room was empty except for than Tom, who was sitting on the couch reading a book on Potions, a perfectly legitimate activity.  Besides, she wasn't sure how much longer her friends would believe the "I'm-studying-so-don't-bother-me" line she'd given them before setting off on her quest, and if they started looking and couldn't find her, that would be anything but good.  However, just as she was getting ready to leave, someone else entered the common room – Paul Garrett.  As soon as Paul came in, Tom set the book down and looked at him.

            "You ready?" the older boy asked.

            Paul nodded.  "Oh yeah."

            Tom grinned.  "Good."

            Minerva's heart jumped.  So her hunch had been right after all.  She clutched the Invisibility Cloak tighter around her shoulders and followed the two boys out of the Slytherin common room.

            They were moving fast, and it was hard for her to keep up while being as silent as possible.  They left the castle and made their way toward the Forbidden Forest.  Minerva was confused – what could they possibly be doing in there? – but kept following them anyway.  Once they got into the forest, it became even harder for her to be quiet, so she opted to abandon the Invisibility Cloak for now and go into her Animagus form.  She folded the cloak up, set it behind a bush, then transformed.  Cat form was much easier; not only was she much quieter and still camouflaged, she could see as clearly as if it were daylight, and caught back up to her targets in no time.

            After about ten minutes of walking through the woods, they arrived at a small clearing with a fallen tree on one side.  She situated herself behind a small tree; the perfect spot to see and not be seen.  Tom and Paul were silent and still for almost a full minute.  Finally, Paul looked at Tom and spoke.

            "Well?  Where is he?"

            Just then, there was movement next to the fallen tree.  An Invisibility Cloak dropped to the ground, revealing a man dressed in black.  He was tall, with black hair and a muscular body.  His face had probably been handsome once, but now it was disfigured by a long, hideous scar that ran from the middle of his forehead to the base of his left ear.  Apparently, his left eye had been gouged out by something many years ago.  His remaining eye was dark, beady, and fixed on the two boys.

            "I'm right here," he said in a deep, sinister voice.

            "Grindelwald," Tom said reverently.

            "Tom Riddle," Grindelwald returned.  "Tom Riddle's accomplice?"

            Paul tried to speak, but no sounds came out.

            "His name is Paul Garrett," said Tom.  "We've got a plan, but we need you to make it work."

            "What's the plan?" Grindelwald asked.

            "There's a teacher we want dead," Tom said.  "However, the catch is that she's being protected by a Fidelius Charm.  We can get rid of the charm if you promise to kill her."

            Grindelwald stared at Tom, blinked slowly, then said, "You expect me to walk into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and kill someone _you_ want dead?  What's in it for me?"

            "Well, we figured you'd want her dead, too."

            Now Grindelwald was interested.  "Really?  Give me the name and then we'll see."

            "Madeline Rahmini."

            Grindelwald froze.  He stared at the two boys for a few moments, then threw his head back and let out a barbaric cry that echoed throughout the woods.  When the sound died down, he looked at Tom and Paul.  Breathing hard, he gave them his answer.  "Consider her dead."

            The boys looked at each other and smiled.  "All right," Tom said.  "Madeline's Secret-Keeper is Armando Dippet.  Paul and I will use the incredible powers of persuasion that that Imperius Curse gives us to get him to transfer it to one of us.  Then we'll contact you again.  Give us one week."

            "I'll be waiting."

            He pulled his wand and Summoned his Invisibility Cloak to him.  He was about to put it back on when Paul said, "Wait.  Before you go, could you… could you tell us why you left her alive?"

            A menacing smile crept across Grindelwald's contorted face.  "You want to know why?" he asked.  "Because she _resisted_.  Because every day she was my prisoner, she fought back with all her heart and soul.  I couldn't kill her.  Not until I broke her."

            "How did she escape?" Tom asked.

            Grindelwald's expression darkened.  "I underestimated her," he said.  "I had her for a little over a year, and I gave her a dead rose in a vase to remind her."  He touched the grotesque scar on his face.  "She broke the vase and did this to me.  And then she ran.  I couldn't catch her.  Then.  But now… she won't escape this time."

            Minerva had never been more terrified in her life.  Tom and Paul were working with Grindelwald.  And they were going to kill someone.  But what she didn't understand was the name they used.  Madeline Rahmini… unless…

            Then it hit her.  Nay.  Indira Nay was Madeline Rahmini.  She had to be.  Finally, it all made sense…  She had to get back to Hogwarts.  She had to warn them.

            She turned around and prepared to leave, but just as she did, Grindelwald noticed her movement and cast a Freezing Charm.  "Someone's been watching us," he growled.

            "It's a just a cat," Paul said dismissively.

            "Hmph," said Grindelwald.  "Tell me what a cat would be doing out here – unless it's an Animagus?"

            _Oh no_, Minerva thought.  _Oh no, oh no, oh no…_

            She was dead.  This was it.  This was the end.  He was going to kill her, and then they would kill Indira and Dumbledore and everyone else…

            A blue-white light came out from Grindelwald's wand and forced her back into human form, and for once in her life, she couldn't think of anything.

            "Minerva," Tom said.

            Grindelwald pointed his wand at her throat.

She closed her eyes.  There was no way out.  There was no way she could fight off Tom, Paul, _and_ Grindelwald.  It would take a miracle.

"Ava-"

            "No!" Tom exclaimed.  "She's Head Girl and she's screwing the deputy headmaster.  If she disappears, they'll all know something's up."

            "Then what," Grindelwald hissed, "do you propose we do?"

            Tom pulled out his own wand and pointed it at her.  "Obliviate!  Paul, give her a new memory."  He then put it away and looked at Grindelwald.  "See you in a week."


	14. In which the plot thickens

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Child-of-the-Dawn, who helped me through some tough spots, and to my new muse… Björn the Koosh ball!  ^_^

Say it.  I'm weird.

Good.  Now read.

~~~

Chapter Fourteen: In which the plot thickens

- March 17, 1945 -

~~~

            Minerva woke up the next morning at a table in the library with her head on a copy of a book entitled _A History of Goblins.  Confused, she tried to figure out why she was there.  She hadn't fallen asleep in the library since third year – she came close sometimes, but someone always came along to check on her.  She wondered why that didn't happen this time._

            She looked down at the book and tried to figure out why she was reading something about the history of goblins.  History of magic, maybe?  She sighed and began rubbing her forehead… she remembered something talking with Dumbledore about thinking Tom Riddle was up to no good, but giving up on it later in the night and telling Arabella that she was going to go to the library and study goblins for History of Magic… but the details were fuzzy.

            She glanced at her watch and almost gasped.  Eight forty!  Classes began at nine, and she was completely unprepared.  She slammed the book shut and raced for the Gryffindor tower, hoping she'd be able to make it on time.

            "About time you got here," Arabella hissed as a breathless Minerva sat down next to her in Charms just before the bell rang.  "Where have you been?"

            "The library, I guess," Minerva said.

            "You _guess?" Arabella said skeptically._

            "Didn't I tell you that I was going to the library?" Minerva asked.

            Arabella nodded.  "Yes, you did.  And I went there at about midnight and you weren't there."

            Now Minerva was more confused than ever.  "But… but I was there… I remember… at least, I _think _I remember…"

            "Ms. McGonagall and Ms. Figg, quiet down, please," said Professor Rose.  He then called the class's attention to what he'd written on the chalkboard.

            Minerva stopped talking, but she couldn't concentrate on what Rose was teaching them.  She remembered being in the library, but she knew Arabella wouldn't lie to her.  Something about this didn't make any sense, and she couldn't figure out what.  What was _wrong with her?_

            Minerva wasn't the only one wondering what was wrong with her.  All during the hour she had the seventh-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, Indira Nay couldn't take her eyes off the Head Girl.  She knew something was wrong with Minerva, she just couldn't figure out what.  During class, Minerva had an expression on her face that strongly reminded Indira of someone knowing that two plus two was four but just couldn't understand why.  After the class was over, Indira spent most of half an hour sitting at her desk, trying to guess what could have possibly made Minerva act the way she did.  And finally, it came to her.

            She set off toward the Transfiguration department to find Dumbledore.  As the head of Minerva's house, he would be the ideal one to tell first.  However, upon arriving at Dumbledore's office, she saw that he wasn't there.  Puzzled, she wondered where he could be.  She decided to check the staff room next and go from there.

            The only person in the staff room was Alain Haas, Arithmancy instructor and head of Hufflepuff, and he was just on his way out.  "Afternoon, Indira," Haas said.  "Is something wrong?  You look anxious."  He elected to refrain from adding, "More anxious than usual."

            "I need to find Dumbledore," Indira returned.  "Have you seen him?"

            Haas nodded.  "Yes; I saw him on my way over here a few minutes ago, actually.  He was heading toward the headmaster's office."

            Indira felt her heartbeat accelerating against her will and almost frowned.  "All right.  Thank you, Professor Haas."

            It didn't take her long to arrive at the statue of the gargoyle in front of the staircase leading up to Dippet's office.  "Kangchenjunga," she said as soon as the statue came into view.  It slid aside well before she reached it, and was able to start up the stairs without breaking stride.  A few seconds later, the statue moved back into place.

Around the corner, standing just out Indira's sight as she'd approached the statue, Paul Garrett smiled to himself and silently repeated the password over and over in his head.  _Kangchenjunga.  _Kangchenjunga.___  Kangchenjunga._

            "And you have no idea what could be wrong with her?" Armando Dippet asked, gazing intently at the man sitting in one of the two the leather chairs in front of his desk.

            Albus Dumbledore shook his head.  "None, but I _do know something's wrong.  All during my class, she just looked… lost."  He didn't feel the need to mention their conversation the previous night concerning her decision to follow Tom Riddle yet.  After all, Minerva said nothing had come of it when he asked her about it after Transfiguration that day.  She seemed to be sure of at least that much._

            Dippet nodded in understanding.  "All right.  What do you think we should do?"

            Dumbledore never got the chance to reply.  A knock on the door interrupted their conversation.  "Come in," Dippet called.

            The door opened, and Indira came inside.  "Headmaster, I have to find Dumbledore," she said, walking toward him at a rapid pace.  "Have you seen him?"

            Dumbledore stuck his head out from behind the chair and said, "Dumbledore?  Never heard of him."

            "Dumbledore!" Indira exclaimed.  "Good.  Listen.  Something's wrong with Minerva McGonagall, and-"

            "Forgive my interruption, Indira, but we know," Dumbledore said.

            Indira narrowed her eyes and finished her statement.  "And I think I know what it is."

            "Well then, by all means, enlighten us," Dippet said, gesturing toward the other chair.

            Indira sat down, took a deep breath, and began to explain.  "We all know the sort of behavior she's exhibited today is abnormal for _any student," she said.  "For a while, I thought it was short-term memory loss, but something like that has never occurred in her before to the best of my knowledge.  After thinking about it, I strongly believe that she's been affected by some sort of curse."_

            "A curse?" Dumbledore exclaimed, gripping the armrests of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white.

            Dippet's brow wrinkled with concern.  "Are you certain?" he asked.

            "I _can't be certain, but she _is_ exhibiting some signs that suggest someone modified her memory and didn't do a very good job," said Indira.  "She would not act like that naturally, and if whoever concocted this 'new memory' of hers knew what they were doing, no one would know the difference."_

            Dumbledore rose to his feet and said, "I'm going to find her."

            Dippet nodded.  "Yes, please do.  Take her to Madam Tyburski for a diagnosis, please.  If her memory _has been altered, there's a chance we could still repair it."_

            Dumbledore excused himself and left the room.

            Once Dumbledore was gone, Dippet looked at Indira and said, "You know a lot about memory charms, don't you?"

            She nodded.  "After the Nays found me, they tried to modify my memory so I wouldn't be haunted by what Grindelwald had done to me.  My mind would always break through them."

            "When was the last time you tried?" he asked, standing up and walking over to her.  "Perhaps it would work better now.  It's been twenty years."

            "Yes, it's been twenty years, and I can still smell the stink in his breath," she snapped.

            _Stupid_, Dippet thought to himself.  _Why do you always act like an idiot around her?  Another thing he wanted to know was why he cared.  Indira was cold.  Indira was heartless.  Indira didn't __want anyone to care about her.  And she'd certainly never given him a reason to._

            Maybe he cared because he knew why.

            Indira sighed and stood up.  "Well, I need to get back to finish grading papers.  Can you let me know what the diagnosis on McGonagall is?"

            "Yes.  Will you be in your office?"

            "Where else would I be?"

            She had a point with that one.

            "Good-bye, Armando," she said.  "I expect I shall see you soon."

            "You called me Armando," he noticed.

            "That's your name, isn't it?"

            "Well, yes, but that's the second time ever."

            She looked mildly surprised.  "And you remember this because…"

            He didn't answer.  Instead, he reached out with his hand and stroked the side of her face, so lightly he was barely touching her.  She didn't move – in fact, she didn't even blink.  He started to pull his hand away, but then she reached up and covered it with hers.  She kissed his palm, then turned and started to walk away.  Just before reaching the door, she stopped, glanced at him over her shoulder, and did something he'd never seen from her before appeared on her face: a genuine smile.

            They saw each other again about an hour later, when he came by her classroom to give her an update on Minerva like he'd promised.  "You're right," he said, crossing the room over to her desk.  "It _is a memory charm, but we can't recover any information.  Her memory doesn't make sense, but we can't find out what really happened without doing serious damage to her mind."_

            "Shit," Indira said, standing up.  "What about Legillimency?  Can't that be used?  Dumbledore's a Legillimens, isn't he?"

            Dippet shook his head.  "He tried.  Whoever cast the memory charm must have also been a Legillimens."

            "Then it couldn't have been a student," she reasoned, and leaned against her desk.  "This doesn't make any sense."

            "You're right, it doesn't," he said.  "No student is powerful enough to be a Legillimens, but a Legillimens would certainly be good enough with memory charms to prevent something like what we've witnessed from happening."

            She sighed and pressed her hand to her forehead.  "If only we could break the charm…  We could ask her to try to break through it herself; that would leave her mind undamaged, but it could take months…"  She dropped her hand and looked at him.  "What do we do?"

            He shook his head.  "The only thing we _can do is wait for her to break through it."_

            "Or wait for someone to make their move," she said quietly.

            "Well, either way, we'll find out sooner or later."

            She nodded, but did not reply verbally.  They made eye contact and looked at each other for almost a full minute, and then a confused look crossed Dippet's face.  "Your eyes…"

            "What about them?" she asked.

            "They're… green," he said.  "I always thought they were brown.  I never got a good look at them before."

            "Oh.  Yes, they're green."

            "It's an interesting color," he said, moving closer to get a better look.  "You're Indian, aren't you?"

            "Half," she said.  "Indian mother, Italian father."

            "Ah.  That was my next guess."

            A grin played across her lips.  "Right."

            "All right, so my next guess was really Arabian, but I would have gotten to Italian/Indian eventually.  How close are you to being done with grading?"

            "Close.  I'd say fifteen more minutes, tops.  Why?"

            "Well… I know getting close to anyone is hard for you."  He took her hand, brought it to his lips, kissed it, then let go.  "But I'd like to try."

            She tried to fight back a grin unsuccessfully.  "All right.  I'll see you in a few minutes."

            "Kanchejunga."

            Nothing happened.

            Tom Riddle stared at the statue of the gargoyle for a few moments, then turned his gaze to Paul Garrett.  "What did you say the password was?"

            "Katchajoonga," Paul said innocently.

            The gargoyle was motionless.

            Tom rolled his eyes.  "Apparently not."

            "Well, it began with a K and there was an anchejunka in there somewhere."

            "It began with a… Paul, you _moron_!"

            Paul folded his arms across his chest and said, "Look, that's what I heard.  It's not my fault Dipshit comes up with passwords like that."

            Tom let out an exasperated sigh and focused his attention on the gargoyle again.  "Kachejunga.  Kangchejooga.  Kangarooja."

            Nothing.

            Tom glared at Paul.  "Nice."

            Just then, they heard footsteps.

            "Someone's coming," Tom said, and they backed away from the gargoyle.

            It was Dippet.  "Mr. Riddle, Mr. Garrett," he said.  "May I help you?"

            "Yes, sir," said Tom.  "We need to talk to you."

            "In private," Paul added.

            "It's about Minerva," said Tom.  "We… we know who cursed her."

            Dippet almost jumped.  "Very well," he said.  "Come with me."  He looked at the gargoyle.  "Kangchenjunga."

            "See?" Paul whispered as they followed Dippet up the stairs.  "How was I supposed to remember _that_?"

            As soon as they reached the top of the stairs, Dippet said, "Who cursed her?"

            In the blink of an eye, Tom's wand was out and pointed at the headmaster's face.  "IMPERIO!"

            Instantly, Dippet felt perfectly content.  He knew the Imperius Curse was illegal, but he couldn't see why.  He'd never been happier.

            "Now, then," Tom said, keeping his wand pointed at Dippet, "we need to talk.  Indira Nay isn't Indira Nay's real name, is it?"

            "No," Dippet answered dreamily.

            "What is it?"

            _Don't tell him_, a tiny voice inside him whispered.

            He hesitated.

            "Tell me!" Tom said.

            "… Madeline Rahmini."

            "He's resisting," said Paul.

            "I know," Tom snapped.  "Shut up."

            _They did this.  They're the ones that cursed Minerva_.

            "Riddle, Garrett, you're under arrest," Dippet said, snapping out of his trance and reaching for his wand.

            "IMPERIO!!" Tom shouted.

            The headmaster became submissive once more.

            "You are Madeline Rahmini's Secret-keeper," Tom said.  "Only you can transfer that to someone else.  Make Paul the new Secret-keeper."

            _No._

"Yes," Tom said when he saw that Dippet was resisting again.

            _No_.

            "Yes."

_            No_.

            "Yes."

            _Yes_. 

            "That's better," said Tom.  "Now do it."

            Dippet took his wand out and pointed it at Paul.  "Arcanus Commuto."  [A/N: Latin, "secret change"]

            Golden light emerged from his chest, condensed into a ball, and then drifted over to Paul.  The glowing orb rested on Paul's chest for a moment, then vanished.

            "Thank you," said Tom.  "Obliviate."

            "Why'd you do that?" Paul whispered.

            "Just in case," Tom whispered back.  He cast the Imperius Curse on Dippet again, just to be sure, then said, "Thank you for your cooperation.  Now go jump off the Astronomy tower."


	15. In which there are two giant leaps forwa...

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful Jestana, who made a beautiful Indira doll.  ^_^  The link is in my profile.  Check it out or I'll make Björn come EAT you!  Mwa ha ha ha!

~~~

Chapter Fifteen: In which there are two giant leaps forward

- About five minutes later - 

~~~

            Filled with an unexplainable desire to get done soon, Indira finished grading faster than she thought she would, and once the papers were finished, she set off toward Dippet's office.  As she walked, she couldn't help thinking about the person she was going to see.  Her feelings toward the headmaster were ambivalent.  She liked him – in fact, she more than liked him; he was patient and seemed to genuinely care for her, and she was physically attracted to him as well – but the same emotions that made her want to see him were the same ones that made her hesitate.  All her life, no one she let get close to her lived for long.  Did she dare risk it with him?

            "Kangchenjunga," she said when she reached the statue of the gargoyle.  It slid aside, and she began climbing the long, winding staircase, her heart beating faster with every step.  She reached the top of the staircase, walked over to the door, and knocked.

            There was no response.

            Confused, she stared at the door.  This didn't make any sense.  He should be in there.  Why wouldn't he?

            She knocked again.  "Armando?"

            Still nothing.

            She was starting to get worried.  She opened the door and went inside his office.  There was no one inside, and all the portraits were sleeping peacefully.  Indira clapped her hands loudly.  "Wake up!" she said.

            "Oh, hello, Professor Nay," said the portrait of Dilys Derwent.  "Is everything all right?"

            "Where's Armando?" Indira asked.

            "Look, lady, we've got better things to do than keep tabs on your boyfriend," mumbled the portrait of Phineaus Nigellus.

            "Phineaus!" exclaimed the portrait of a dark-haired witch named Rebecca Gryffindor, one of school's earliest heads.  She sighed and looked at Indira.  "Just ignore him, Professor Nay."

            "I always do," Indira replied.  "Do any of you know where the headmaster is?"

            "He left about half an hour ago and hasn't been back since," said the portrait of a white-haired wizard named Donnchadh McGonagall.  "And it's been raining too hard for us to hear anything."  It had been raining all day, but not hard until about half an hour ago.

            That was just enough time to go to the hospital wing to check on Minerva and then to her, Indira reasoned.  "But he said he was coming back here," she said.  "Are you sure he hasn't been here?"

            "We said he wasn't!" Phineaus growled.  "How many times do we have to tell you that?"

            The portrait of a witch Viviana Madison named gave Phineaus a look that Indira felt rivaled her own infamous Death Stare.

            "He probably just got delayed," Dilys Derwent suggested gently.  "Why don't you go look for him?  If he gets back before you find him, we'll tell him you're looking for him."

            "All right," Indira said.  She thanked the portraits, with the exception of Phineaus Nigellus, then went back down the stairs.  Dilys was right.  He probably just ran into another teacher and got delayed.  It was a perfectly logical explanation.

            Then why was she so worried?

            The first instructor she saw after leaving Dippet's office was Halo Pokeli, who taught Herbology and was the head of Ravenclaw.  Actually, it was he who saw her first.  "Aloha, Professor Nay," the Hawaiian-born Pokeli said.  "You look frantic."

            "Have you seen Armando?" she asked, too distracted to remember to not refer to the headmaster by his first name in front of others.

            "I saw him go that way about a minute ago," Pokeli answered, nodding to his left.  "Toward the Astronomy tower, I think."

            She thanked him and took off toward the Astronomy tower as fast as she could without running.  She didn't know why she was so worried.  Something about this whole situation didn't seem right, and the sooner she found him, the sooner she would be able to relax.

            She didn't see him as she drew closer to the Astronomy tower, but he also had a head start.  The sense of foreboding grew greater with ever step, and she quickened her pace.  By the time she reached the long, winding staircase that led to the top of the tower, she was at an all-out run.

            Running on the staircase was strongly advised against, and for a good reason; crashing into another person happened more often at high velocities, as she discovered when she barreled into a pair of second-year Hufflepuffs.  "Has anyone been up here?" she asked, helping them to their feet.

            "Professor Dippet just passed us," one of them said nervously.  Indira scared most of the students, especially the younger ones, and he was no exception.

            She took off running again, calling his name as she went.

            When she reached the top of the tower, she saw him standing next to the railing on the edge of the observing platform, and he was starting to climb up onto it.  "ARMANDO!" she shouted above the roar of the rain.  "STOP!"

            He hesitated for a moment, but then kept climbing.

            "What are you _doing?" she asked, running over to him and grabbing his arm._

            He looked at her, then pushed her away.

            Indira gasped.  The Imperius Curse.  It had to be.  She was well acquainted with that curse, having been subjected to it several times when Grindelwald didn't feel like putting up with her resistance.  There was no time to wonder who had done it to him.  She had to get him to snap out of it before he killed himself.

            She seized him by the arm again; unable to get a good grip because they were both soaked from the rain.  She tried to recall everything she had learned about hand-to-hand combat in her lifetime and come up with something that would stop him, but not hurt him.  Dippet, however, had other ideas, although not his own.  He shook her off once more and continued climbing.

            Unable to come up with anything else, Indira jumped up, wrapped her arms around her neck, and yanked him off the rail, causing both of them to fall backwards onto the platform.  Dippet freed himself from her grip and started to stand, but she tripped him and caused him to fall again.  She began to crawl over to him, but he reacted first, seizing her by the neck and trying to choke her.  She hooked her arms around his, then rolled backwards, sending him flying into the tower behind them.  Before he could get up again, she clambered over and attempted to pin him to the wall by straddling him and holding his arms behind his back.  It worked.  He couldn't move.

            "You're under the Imperius Curse!" she shouted.  "Fight it!  Don't give in!"

            He closed his eyes and turned his head away, straining to escape from her grasp.

            "Fight it!" she cried again.  "You can do this!  You have to!"

            _Don't listen to her_,  a strong voice inside his head said.  _Jump off the tower._

            _No,_ said another, smaller voice.  _Listen to her.  She wants to help you._

_            No she doesn't.  She's trying to trick you._

_            No she's not._

_            Yes she is._

_            No she's not_.  The smaller voice was gradually growing louder.

            "Please…" she said, not sure how much longer she could hold him.

            _She's delaying you!  Eliminate her!_

_            You can't.  You love her._

_            No you don't!  She doesn't matter!  The only thing that matters is jumping off the tower!_

_            NO!!!_

He stopped resisting, opened his eyes again, and looked at her.  "Indira…"

            "You're all right," she managed to say despite being out of breath, and released his hands.

            He pushed several sections of her soaking-wet hair out of her face and then pressed his hand to her cheek.  "Thanks to you."

            She let out a long sigh of relief and leaned forward to rest her head on his shoulder.  He wrapped his arms around her, and for a few moments, they were completely motionless, just holding onto each other in the pouring rain.

            Suddenly, she began to tremble.  "Are you all right?" he asked.  He realized that they should probably get inside; they were risking hypothermia by being out here in the rain.

            "I… I thought I was going to lose you," she choked.  The rain camouflaged her tears, but her body betrayed her relief.

            He smiled and hugged her tighter.  "I didn't realized you cared so much."

            She lifted her head up and kissed him on the cheek.  "Neither did I."

            The rain was falling harder than ever now.  It was one of the many things forgotten as they shared a kiss that left the world behind.

            A memory charm.

            _That's what's wrong with me_, Minerva thought to herself as she left the hospital wing and began to head toward Dumbledore's quarters to have some tea and discuss the incident further.  Someone had put a memory charm on her.  But who?  And why?

            Dumbledore told her that if someone knew a memory charm had been placed on them, they could gradually break through it with little or no damage to their mind.  However, it would take her a long time to even begin to crack it, and that bothered her.  She had the strangest feeling that whatever was being blocked from her mind was important.

            Dumbledore was pouring the tea into cups when Minerva arrived.  "How are you feeling?" he asked.

            "Confused," she answered.  "Who would put a memory charm on me?"

            He handed her one of the cups, and she thanked him.

            "I think," he said quietly, "that it might have been Tom Riddle."

            Minerva shook her head and took a sip of her tea.  "No," she said.  "Tom's my friend.  He wouldn't do something like that.  Besides, he's not up to anything."

            Dumbledore's instinct told him otherwise, but he didn't have anything to support those thoughts, so he kept silent.  The two of them walked over to a pair of velvet armchairs next to a window and sat down.  Rain pounded against the window and slid down the glass in sheets, making everything outside appear as nothing more than a blur.

            Minerva sighed and looked at her tea.  "How do I break through a memory charm?"

            "I… I don't know," he admitted.  "I've never done it myself.  Being aware that a memory charm has been placed on you helps, though."

            "So should I just try to… to remember?"

            He nodded.  "Probably."

            She brought the cup to her lips, but did not drink.  After a few seconds, she set it down and said, "I know it's something bad.  I think someone's in danger and if it weren't for this charm, I could do something to protect them."

            "Well… it's a long shot, but we _could try Divination…"_

            Minerva snorted and stared at her tea.  "What do you say, Cup?  Who's in danger?"

            Dumbledore chuckled.  "You're right, it's not worth the effort.  Care for a game of chess?"

            "Sure.  I'll get it if you hold my tea."

            He agreed, and she got up and walked over to his bookcase.  As she was reaching for the chessboard, she noticed a picture of a younger Dumbledore and another man standing on either side of a very pretty woman with auburn hair and bright blue eyes.  "Albus," she said, picking up the picture, "who is this?"

            Dumbledore set the teacups down and joined her at the bookcase.  "That's me, my brother Aberforth, and our sister Lucilla."

            "Lucilla…" Minerva repeated.

            Just then, she saw something.  A face.  A grotesque, mutilated face, with a long scar where his left eye should be.

She screamed and dropped the picture.  The frame shattered on the floor.  She covered her face and collapsed, shaking with fright.

            "Minerva!" Dumbledore exclaimed, dropping to his knees next to her.  "What is it?  Are you all right?"

            She was too shaken to answer immediately.  He wrapped his arms around her, and she spent the next few minutes trying to recover from what she had seen.  Finally, she was able to speak again.  "I… I s-saw…"

            "What did you see?" he asked.

            "Grindelwald."

            "You saw Grindelwald?" he said.  "Are you _sure_?  What did he look like?"

            "He… had one eye… and a scar… it was so horrible…"

            That matched the most recent description of Grindelwald, given about ten years ago.  But why did Minerva…  Then it came to him.  The memory charm.  Seeing the picture of Lucilla triggered the image of Grindelwald being blocked by the charm.

            "Grindelwald's coming here," Minerva said.  "And he's coming for blood."

It was half an hour before Dippet and Indira realized that they should go inside or risk contracting hypothermia.

However, upon going back inside the Astronomy tower, they discovered it was already occupied by a pair of sixth-years kissing passionately.  They stopped at the sight of the drenched headmaster and Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor.  Both tried to speak, but they were too shocked to do anything more than stare.

            Indira began wringing water out of her hair and said, "Lyons.  Sanchez.  Detention."

A/N: I was in a Hawaiian-y mood earlier today.  Halo Pokeli is the Hawaiian version of Harry Potter.  I thought it was funny, anyway.  ^_^


	16. In which the very long night begins

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to uber grasshopper, who put up with me and gave me pep talks while I was stressing over finals.  ^_^

~~~

Chapter Sixteen: In which the very long night begins

- A few minutes later -

~~~

            Less than thirty seconds after descending from the Astronomy tower, Armando Dippet and Indira Nay were cornered by Albus Dumbledore.

            "I have to tell you something, Armando," Dumbledore said frantically.  "It's an emergency."  He paused and took a closer look at them.  A confused look crossed his face.  "Why are you two so wet?"

            "It's a long story," Dippet said, "and one that you should probably hear."  _With certain details excluded, he thought to himself._

            "Someone put the Imperius Curse on him," Indira said.  "Something tells me there's a connection between this and the memory charm placed on Minerva McGonagall."

            "Which brings me to my emergency," Dumbledore said.  "She broke through part of the memory charm."          

            "Already?" Dippet asked.

            "She saw something that conjured an image strong enough to get through the block on her mind," Dumbledore said.  He glanced around to make sure they were alone, then lowed his voice.  "She saw Grindelwald.  And she said he's coming here."

            Indira gasped and took a step back.

            "Are you all right?" Dumbledore asked, looking at her.

            She tried to speak, but no sound came out.

            "Grindelwald," Dippet repeated.  "Are you certain?  Is _she_ certain?"

            "About a month ago, I told her that Grindelwald killed my sister," Dumbledore said.  "When she saw a picture of Lucilla tonight, she remembered.  I know it sounds crazy, but…"  He sighed, then began a new thought.  "And you say that there was an Imperius curse placed on you?  Who did it?"

            "I don't remember," Dippet said, shaking his head apologetically.  He sighed.  "We need a meeting.  Staff, Head Boy, and Head Girl.  Albus, Indira, if you find McGonagall and Riddle, I'll round up the staff."

            "On my way," Dumbledore said with a nod.  He then turned around and walked away.

            "Same," Indira said quietly.  She and Dippet made eye contact, but neither spoke, and she left quickly, hoping he didn't see the frightened look on her face.

            "Check."

            Paul moved his bishop to block Tom's queen.  "Nay."

            "Besides Nay," Tom said, moving his queen two squares to the left.

            Paul thought for a moment, then said, "Turner."

            Tom snorted.  "Turner?  She's got to be sixty."

            "She looks good for sixty."  Paul moved a pawn one square forward.  "What about you?"

            "Kadish.  Definitely Kadish."

            "Oh, yeah; I forgot about Kadish."

            "_You_ would," Tom said, taking Paul's pawn with his rook.  Paul swore.  "You never took her class."

Tom and Paul were sitting in the Slytherin boys' dormitories on Tom's bed playing chess and discussing which of the female faculty members were the most attractive.  Paul studied the board for a moment, moved his queen three spaces to the right, then said, "Yeah, I guess I'll go with Kadish, too."

            "Even though she's married."

            "Yeah, even though she – she's _what?"_

            "She and Professor Pokeli got married last summer.  Didn't you know that?"

            "No, Tom, unlike you, _I _do not _stalk_ my teachers."

            "I don't stalk," Tom said calmly, gazing at the chessboard.  "I observe.  You never know when opportunity will strike."  He saw an opening and took Paul's queen with a knight.

            Just then, sixth-year Barty Crouch, who replaced Paul as a prefect, came into the room and said, "Tom, Professor Nay's down in the common room.  She needs you to go with her.  Apparently, there's an emergency."

            "Really?" Tom asked with mild interest.  "What kind of emergency?"

            Paul took one of Tom's pawns with a bishop.

            "I don't know, but she almost looks scared, which means it's probably major."

            "Really?" Tom said again, but this time, sounding much more interested.  "Tell her I'll be right down."

            Barty nodded and left.

            Tom glanced at the chessboard and moved his queen three squares diagonally and took Paul's rook.  "Checkmate."  Looking up, he said, "Apparently, something's happened, and it's time for us to act.  Take Minerva's Invisibility Cloak and your broomstick and go to Grindelwald.  _Now."  They found Minerva's Invisibility Cloak in the forest after putting the memory charm on her and thought it might come in useful._

            "How will I find him?" Paul asked.

            "Just fly into the forest.  _He'll_ find _you_."

            Once everyone was assembled in the staff room, Dippet stood up and called for their attention.  "We have a situation," the headmaster said quietly.  "And I am not going to sugar-coat this.  We have reason to believe that the dark wizard Grindelwald is coming here."

            Everyone started talking at once.  Dumbledore and Dippet tried to quiet things down, but their voices was drowned out by the others.  Only Indira remained silent.

            "Grindelwald?  Here?"

            "Impossible!"

            "Why?"

            "How do you know?"

            "What are we going to do?"

            "He's more powerful than any of us."  That voice belonged to Tom Riddle.

            "How can we stop him?"

            "Should we tell the students?"

            "QUIET, PLEASE!" came the booming voice of Professor Pokeli.

            Silence.

            "Thank you, Halo," Dippet said.  He looked at Minerva.  "Would you like to explain what happened, Miss McGonagall?"

            Every head turned toward Minerva, but none faster than Indira's.

            "All right," Minerva said quietly, standing up.  She waited a few moments to make sure she had everyone's attention, then began.  "A memory charm was placed on me yesterday.  We have no idea who did it, but now we have a clue as to why."

            Dumbledore began to get a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, and out of the corner of his eye, he stole a glance at Tom, only to see the Head Boy look at him at the exact same moment.  And then… nothing.

            Minerva continued.  "A few minutes ago I saw a picture of Professor Dumbledore's sister, who, as many of you may know, was killed by Grindelwald twelve years ago.  Seeing that picture allowed me to break through part of the memory charm.  One of the things that was being blocked from my conscious thoughts was the knowledge that Grindelwald was planning to come here."

            "Do you know _why_ Grindelwald was going to come here?" inquired Christina Bacall, the Astronomy instructor.

            Minerva shook her head.  "No, Professor Bacall, I don't."  She sighed, closed her eyes, and said, "There's a name… but it's crazy…"

            "What's the name, Miss McGonagall?" Alain Haas asked gently.

            She opened her eyes.  "Madeline Rahmini."

            "Madeline Rahmini is dead," Indira said quickly.

            Dippet glanced at her for a moment, then looked at Minerva again.

            "I told you it was crazy," Minerva said.  "I can't explain it.  But I'm almost certain I heard that name."

            "Whether or not you did is irrelevant," Dippet said, drawing attention to himself in fear of an outburst from Indira.  The head of Slytherin house looked as though she was struggling to maintain composure as it was.  "The point is that this situation should not be taken lightly.  We must take action to prevent the school from this threat.  If Miss McGonagall is incorrect and there is no danger, then we can dismiss it as such.  However, we cannot risk assuming this is nothing if she is right."

            "What do we do now?" Tom asked.

            Dippet made eye contact with Dumbledore before giving a reply.  "We will tell the students," the headmaster said.  "Albus, Alain, Halo, Indira, meet with the prefects from each of your respective houses and tell them first.  Then speak to the entire house.  The rest of us will begin patrolling the castle and grounds.  Go in pairs.  I don't want anyone to risk getting caught alone.  No student is to leave their house until we are certain the danger has passed."

            "Does that go for Minerva and myself as well, Professor Dippet?" Tom asked.

            Dippet and Dumbledore looked at each other again, and this look lasted significantly longer than the last.  It was Dumbledore who spoke first this time.  "We could certainly use their help," he said.  "They're young, but they're powerful.  Both of them."

            Dippet nodded.  "Yes, you're right.  Mr. Riddle, Miss McGonagall, you will join the staff in patrol.  Any questions?"

            No one spoke.

            "Good.  Dismissed.  And good luck."

            Minerva found herself patrolling the halls with Kiura Kadish, the Muggle Studies instructor.  Kiura was a Muggle-born Hufflepuff alumni who also had a Muggle education, having enrolled at university after graduating from Hogwarts.  She had a Ph.D. in sociology and insisted that her students refer to her as "Doctor Kadish" as opposed to "Professor," as she felt it would help them learn more about Muggles.  Whether or not that was true, no one really knew.  All they knew was that she was Dr. Kadish, and that was all that really mattered.

            Suddenly Kiura stopped walking.  "Did you hear that?" she asked.

            "If you mean those footsteps, then yes, I did," Minerva said.

            "Around the corner," Kiura said, lowering her voice.  "Get ready."

            They moved toward the end of the corridor, staying close to the wall and keeping their wands up.  The footsteps slowed down, but grew slightly louder.  "They must have heard us," Minerva whispered.  "Step lightly."

            They were now inching along, their feet making almost no sound against the stone floor.

            "Get ready," Kiura whispered as they reached the end of the corridor.

            "NOW!" two voices yelled.  Only one belonged to Kiura.

            The two women leapt out into the open, only to find themselves pointing their wands at Armando Dippet and Daniel Eckersley, the Divination instructor.  Dippet and Eckersley also had their wands up and were ready to attack.

            All four of them sighed and lowered their wands.  "Have you seen anything suspicious?" Dippet asked.

            "Nothing," Kiura said.  "What about the two of you?"

            Eckersley shook his head.  "Nothing as well."

            Minerva looked around, then said, "I have a very bad feeling about this, Professors."

            "Minerva, if you would like to return to your dormitory, that would be perfectly accepta-" Dippet began.

            "No, sir," she said, cutting him off.  "I would much rather do everything in my power to defend the school."

            "You warned us," Dippet said.  "If in fact Grindelwald _is coming here, we will have had time to prepare thanks to you."_

"Armando!"

            That voice belonged to Dumbledore, who was moving toward them at a rapid pace, followed closely by Alain Haas.  "Gryffindor and Hufflepuff houses are both aware of the situation," the deputy headmaster continued.  "We saw Halo heading toward the south end of the castle with Jason, but we haven't seen Indira."

            A look of concern crossed Dippet's face.  "Perhaps it's taking longer to inform her house," he guessed.

            "The Slytherins?" Eckersley said.  "They would probably be able to handle this more than any other house, except maybe Gryffindor."

            In his heart, Dippet knew Eckersley was right; he had yet to meet a Slytherin who could not keep a cool head in a dangerous situation.

            "Should we send someone over there?" Kiura asked.

            "That won't be necessary, Dr. Kadish," came Indira's voice.  She was approaching from the opposite direction Dumbledore and Haas had.

            "Is something wrong?" Dippet asked.

            "Yes," she said.  "Paul Garrett is missing."


	17. In which the very long night continues

~~~

Chapter Seventeen: In which the very long night continues

- A few minutes later -

~~~

            "Missing?" Haas repeated.  "Are you certain, Professor Nay?"

            Indira nodded.  "The prefects were about halfway through telling the rest of the house about… about the potential danger when I noticed that he wasn't there.  I searched the entire tower for him.  Nothing."

            "We've got to find him before he gets hurt," Kiura said.

            Dippet nodded.  "Yes, you're right.  Daniel, Kiura, could the two of you search the rest of the school for him?"

            Eckersley and Kiura nodded.

            "Minerva, you'll go with Professor Nay," Dippet told Minerva.

            "What about you?" Dumbledore asked.

            "I'll go alone," Dippet said.

            "No, you won't," said Indira.  Then she realized how quick she was to say that, and a slightly stunned look appeared on her face.  To her relief, no one noticed.

            "Come with us," Minerva suggested.  _And keep her from killing me_, she thought, glancing at Indira.

            "Very well," said Dippet.  "Let's go.  And hurry.  Garrett must be found."

            What Dippet didn't know was that someone had already found Paul Garrett.

            And that someone was Grindelwald.

            "Something went wrong with the memory charm we put on Minerva," Paul told the ominous, one-eyed figure standing before him.  "We have to act now, before she breaks through the rest of it.  Madeline Rahmini is at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy."

            Grindelwald smiled.  He'd known that for years, but because she was being protected by the Fidelius Charm, he would be unable to find her unless the Secret-keeper told him the location.  "Excellent," he said.  "You may go.  Find your friend Riddle and tell him I'm right behind you."

            "All right."

Paul pulled the Invisibility Cloak over him, mounted his broomstick, and rose above the trees.  One hand gripped the handle of the broomstick and the other held the cloak on as he flew.  His heart pounded in his throat.  He'd dreamed of this day for a long time, the day he would finally be rid of the one person he hated more than any.  It wouldn't be long now.

            Grindelwald, too, had anxiously been awaiting this moment.  He smiled to himself as he walked through the forest toward the school, thinking of torture he would put her through, the pain and suffering he would inflict.  The experience she went through as a child left her emotions as stable as a knife standing its point.  She would break like glass once he found her.  And this time, there would be no escape… for her or anyone else.

            Meanwhile, in the Gryffindor common room, the students were getting restless.

            "I don't understand," Arabella Figg said.  "Minerva's helping.  Why can't we help, too?"

            "Because Professor Dumbledore told us to stay here," said sixth-year girls' prefect Courtney Lang.  "And Minerva… she's not like the rest of us.  She's unnaturally powerful."

            "But not even _she's_ strong enough to take Grindelwald alone," Arabella said.

            "But she's _not_ alone," Courtney pointed out.  "The rest of the staff is patrolling the school, too.  And so's Tom Riddle."

            Arabella sighed and folded her arms across her chest.  "I know.  I just feel there's something more we could be doing.  If they really do need all the help they can get, then why didn't they ask for ours?"

            "Because only a few of us are capable," said Roger Patton, the fifth-year boys' prefect.  "I don't like the idea of sitting around here, either, but we all want to help, whether we know we can or not.  If they let us go, then people who aren't strong enough could get hurt."

            Arabella knew why they were being told to stay in their dormitories, and she understood why.  However, she couldn't help being frustrated.  Two of her best friends were out there, possibly risking their lives.  She wouldn't be able to sit still until she knew they were safe.

            "That's it," she said, reaching for her wand.  "I'm going out there."

            "You can't!" Courtney exclaimed frantically.  "It's too dangerous!"

            "She's my friend, Court."

            "She's _my _friend, too, Ari!" Courtney said.  "And so are you!  I'm sorry, but if you go out there, I'll report you."

            "Then report me," Arabella said defiantly as she walked toward the portrait hole.

            Kyle Thresher and Martin Blumethal, who were prefects as well as the biggest, strongest boys in the school, cut her off before she reached the exit.

            Arabella looked up the two boys, both a foot taller and twice her size, then said calmly, "Shark, Tiny, you're not going to stop me.  If you don't get out of my way, I'll hex you."

            "Who said anything about stopping you?" Martin asked.  "We're going, too."

            Arabella smiled.  "All right, then.  Let's go."

            "Court, you're in charge until we get back," Martin said, following Arabella through the portrait hole.

            "And then you're still in charge," Kyle added.

            Courtney could do nothing but stare at them.  She didn't even blink.

            Kyle smiled at her.  "Ta."

            Arabella didn't want to put anyone else at risk, but the idea of having two bodyguards was appealing.  Besides, Martin and Kyle were powerful, both physically and magically.  The three of them were sure to be a match for any sort of trouble they might run in to, even Grindelwald.  If they couldn't stop him, they could at least hold him off until more help arrived.

            Suddenly, they saw some movement at the opposite end of the hall they were in.  It was a person, too young to be a faculty member; most likely one of the upperclassmen.  Arabella couldn't be sure from this distance, but she thought she knew who he was.  "Paul?" she called.

            The person stopped.  "Ari?" a male voice returned.

            It _was_ Paul.  "What are you doing?" Arabella asked, jogging toward him with Martin and Kyle on her heels.

            "Where is everyone?" Paul asked.

            "Where have you been?" Kyle asked.  "Weren't you at your house meeting?"

            "No; I've been down in the dungeons for the last few hours working on a potion," Paul lied.  "What's going on?"

            "Minerva broke through part of her memory charm and told the staff that Grindelwald's coming," Arabella answered.

            "She _what_?!?" Paul exclaimed.  Realizing that he probably shouldn't sound so shocked by this information, he took a deep breath to steady himself and said, "That explains a lot."

            His exterior was calm, but inside, Paul was panicking.  Grindelwald lost the element of surprise, one of his few advantages, if not the only.  What would he do when he found out they were ready for him?"

            "All the students have been instructed to stay inside their houses and not come out until the teachers say we can," said Martin.

            "So what are you three doing out here?" Paul asked.

            "We're going to help Minerva," said Arabella.  "She and Tom are helping the staff search for Grindelwald."

            Paul relaxed slightly.  Tom would certainly be able to intervene if necessary.

            "Paul, I'm curious," Kyle said, casting a suspicious look in Paul's direction.  "If you were working on a potion down in the dungeons, why do you have your broomstick?  And is that an Invisibility Cloak?"

            Paul sighed.  "Long story."

            Kyle accepted that answer.  Carrying around a broomstick and an Invisibility Cloak during a lockdown seemed highly unusual, but this was Hogwarts.  The only thing predictable about this place was that it wasn't.

            "So where is she?" Paul asked.  "Minerva, that is."

            "We don't know," Arabella said.  "We just started looking for her."

            "You know, we could really get in a lot of trouble if someone finds us," Paul said.  "We should get back to our dormitories."

            "Too late," said Martin.  "Kyle, Ari, and I are already in the doghouse."

            "What did you do?"

            "Let's just say we didn't _sneak out," said Arabella.  "Come on, guys.  We're already going down.  Let's go down with honor.  Paul, you in?"_

            Paul sighed.  "Sorry, not this time.  I'm going to head back and find out what's going on.  Anyway, if Nay catches me, she'll rip off my head and impale it on a stick."

            Arabella wouldn't be surprised at all if that _was the fate that would befall him if he were caught by his house head.  "Good point," she said.  "See you later, I hope."_

            "Yeah," said Paul.  "Later."

            He pulled the Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders and was gone.

            Not far away, two instructors, Arielle Turner and Christina Bacall, had run into some trouble.

            "Grindelwald!" Arielle gasped.  "Christina, run for help!"

            Two words and a flash of green light later, she was silenced forever.

            Christina attempted to do as Arielle instructed, but Grindelwald stopped her with an Impediment jinx.  Seizing her by the throat, he said, "Where is Madeline Rahmini?"

            "Who?" Christina choked.

            "Madeline Rahmini!" he repeated, gripping her throat harder.  "You probably know her as Indira Nay."

            A horrified look crossed Christina's face as everything came together, but it did her no good; a few seconds later, Grindelwald's hand crushed her throat, and her life passed out of existence.

            Grindelwald dropped the body of his second victim that night next to the first and continued on his way.  He hated killing so quickly.  Death was something that should be long and painful.  There was so little satisfaction in making it short.  He promised himself that the torture he spared them would be spent on making the girl that had eluded him for so long suffer.  Her and everyone that protected her.  They would all pay.

            All he had left to do was find them.

            Minerva, Indira, and Dippet were walking through the halls in silence when a bloodcurdling scream suddenly pierced the air.

            "I know that scream," Minerva realized after thinking about it a few seconds.  "It's Arabella!"

            She took off running before her companions could stop  her.

            "Minerva, wait!" Dippet called as he and Indira raced after her.  "It's too dangerous!"

            The highly athletic Minerva was able to put a great deal of distance between herself and the two professors in a short amount of time.  When she came to a stop two hallways over, they were a good fifty yards behind her.  What she saw was enough to make her scream as well.  Five bodies were lying on the ground, and standing above them was the wizard in her vision: Erich Rainier, better known as Grindelwald.

            Minerva recognized three of the bodies as Arabella, Martin, and Kyle.  Fear that they were dead took over concern for her own life.  "Don't move," she hissed, pointing her wand at Grindelwald.

            Grindelwald almost smiled.  "And you are…?"

            She narrowed her eyes.  Sparks flew from the tip of her wand.  "When you wake up, you'll be in Hell.  Ask someone there."

            "Minerva!" came Indira's voice.  She and Dippet were coming up fast.  They both stopped at the sight of Grindelwald, and she screamed.

            Grindelwald smiled.  "Madeline," he said.  "It's been a long time."

            He sent a jet of red light at them.  Dippet grabbed her and rolled, causing both of them to fall to the ground.  Grindelwald's blast hit the wall behind and caused a shower of stone to rain down upon them.  They were trapped.

            Grindelwald turned his attention back to Minerva, who was now kneeling next to her friends.  To her great relief, Arabella, Martin, and Kyle weren't dead, just Stunned, but the two teachers were dead, and they would _all_ be dead soon if Grindelwald wasn't stopped.  And she was determined to be the one to stop him, even if it meant surrendering her own life in the process.

            "You called her Madeline," Minerva said, standing up.  She hoped to delay Grindelwald as long as possible.  The longer he kept talking, the longer she would have to figure out what to do.

            "Of course I did," Grindelwald said, keeping his wand pointed at her.  "What else would I call her?  The name she assumed as an attempt to conceal her former life?"

            "Why did you call her Madeline?" Minerva asked.  It wasn't much, but at least it was buying her a few more seconds.  Perhaps, if she could get him to glance to the side, she could hit him with a Disarming spell, then maybe a Stunner…

            Grindelwald laughed.  "What, she never told you about a little skirmish I had with her family about twenty years ago?"

            All of a sudden, figuring out how to stop Grindelwald wasn't so interesting anymore.  "_What?"_

            He smiled upon seeing that he'd caught her attention.  "Yes," he said.  "It was about two years after Anton Rahmini became Minister of Magic.  I couldn't just let them get away with exposing me before I was ready for it."

            "So if she _is_ Madeline Rahmini, why didn't you kill her with the rest of them?"

            "Don't you _remember_?" he sneered.

            "No," she said quietly.

            "Pity," he said.  "I'm tired of you.  AVADA KEDEVRA!"

            Minerva didn't even realize what was happening until a suit of armor leapt in front of her and took the hit.  For a moment, she thought that master of Transfiguration, Albus Dumbledore, had arrived on the scene, but glancing behind her, she saw that the one who had actually make the suit of armor come to life was Indira, half buried under a pile of rubble and bleeding from a large cut on her forehead.  She had her wand pointed at them, but after seeing that Minerva was alive, succumbed to unconsciousness.

            Grindelwald was even more surprised by Indira's intervention than Minerva was, and that gave her enough time to act.  "EXPELLIARMUS!"

            Her attempt to disarm him was successful, but he managed to dodge the Stunners she sent at him.  His wand was lying on the floor a few feet away.  He dove for it, then fired a Stunner of his own.  It struck her in the arm, and she fell.

            Grindelwald was standing above her now, his eye filled with hate.  "Avada Ke-"

            He didn't get a chance to finish.  A blast of light hit him in the chest, and he was thrown back into the wall.  Minerva looked up, and her eyes widened with surprise and relief.  This time, it _was Dumbledore._

            Grindelwald appeared to be unconscious, so Dumbledore focused his attention on Minerva.  "Are you all right?" he asked, kneeling down next to her.

            "Fine," she said, rubbing her arm, which was numb from the Stunner.  "Martin, Kyle, and Arabella are alive, just stunned, but… but Professor Turner and Professor Bacall are dead."  She glanced back at the pile of rubble behind her and said, "Professor Dippet and Professor Nay are under those rocks.  Nay was alive a few minutes ago."  The feeling was starting to come back to her arm.  "Help them.  I'll be fine."

            As soon as Dumbledore stood up, though, he was tackled by Grindelwald.

            Minerva tried to intervene with magic, but her arm was incapable of independent movement.  Dumbledore and Grindelwald were wrestling; she could easily hit the one she didn't want to.

            The two combatants were moving toward a window at the end of the hall.  Minerva scrambled to her feet and held her wand in her weaker right hand, hoping she would still be able to as accurate as she would normally be with her left.  She saw an opening and raised her arm.

            Suddenly Grindelwald turned around and shot a jet of blue light at her.  She dodged the blast, but lost her opening.

            Dumbledore took advantage of Grindelwald's distraction and hooked his arm around his neck in hopes of bringing him down.  However, Grindelwald reacted quickly enough to fight back.  They kept wrestling, both about to lose their balance, and they were now right next to the window.

            Then, it happened.  Dumbledore went first, taking Grindelwald along with him.  They tumbled out the window and were gone.


	18. In which the very long night ends

~~~

Chapter Eighteen: In which the very long night ends

- Twenty-two feet later -

~~~

            Dumbledore landed in a hedge two stories below the window, and a thud on the ground some ten feet away told him Grindelwald hadn't been so lucky.  Slowly, painfully, he hoisted himself out of the hedge.  His entire body ached from the impact, and he'd lost his wand in the fall, but he was alive.  And Grindelwald's landing hadn't been nearly as soft as his.  Perhaps it had knocked his enemy unconscious… or worse…

            "Lumos," Dumbledore said, hoping his wand had landed nearby.  It had, and its glowing tip was lying a few feet away.  He picked it up and looked around.  Grindelwald was indeed on the ground, not moving.  He didn't approach him yet, though.  Something told him apprehending the powerful dark wizard wasn't going to be that easy.

            "Albus!" came a voice from above.

            He looked up and saw a familiar face looking down at him from the window.  "Minerva!" he said.

            "I'm coming down!" she said, and hoisted one leg onto the windowsill.

            "No!" Dumbledore replied.  "I think Grindelwald's unconscious.  Get help.  I can hold him off if he wakes up."

            She nodded and ducked back inside.

            Dumbledore moved closer to Grindelwald to better assess the situation, and found himself staring at the man lying on the ground.  He'd never seen the man who'd murdered his sister and so many others face to face, and he was both awed and disgusted by what he saw.  Grindelwald had been handsome once, and a trace of his former appearance still lingered, but his face now was gnarled and distorted by a long, deep scar and the absence of an eye.  The eye that remained was closed, and he wasn't breathing.  Maybe the fall _had_ killed him.

            Suddenly, Grindelwald's eye opened, and before Dumbledore had a chance to react, something hit him hard in the face – Grindelwald's fist.  Dumbledore staggered backwards, dizzy from both the hit and the burning pain now emanating from the center of his face.  The warm, salty taste of blood filled his mouth.  When his vision came back into focus, he saw Grindelwald, on his feet, wand pointed at his enemy.

            "Don't move."

            Grindelwald's voice was even more sinister than Dumbledore thought it would be.  He tightened his grip on his wand and tried to block out the pain.

            "I will have no more delays," Grindelwald said, taking a step toward Dumbledore.  "Too long have I waited for this day, and I will not have my revenge taken from me."

            Dumbledore wondered what Grindelwald meant by that, but this was not the time to ponder his enemy's motives for being here.  He raised his wand and kept it pointed at the other wizard.  "You can't win," he said.  "Not here, and not now.  You know this."

            Suddenly Grindelwald pointed his wand toward the sky and cried, "INCENDIO!"

            Flames leapt from the tip of his wand and shot into the air.  When they descended back down to the ground, they formed a ring of fire around the two wizards.

            _How discrete_, Dumbledore thought.  Help would be here in an instant once someone took notice of a bonfire in the courtyard.  But until then… He prepared to cast a disarming spell, but a statement from Grindelwald stopped him.

            "I know you," Grindelwald said with a smirk.  "You're Lucy Black's brother."

            Dumbledore froze at the mention of his sister, and Grindelwald took advantage of the distraction and hit him in the chest with a blast of white light.  Dumbledore flew back several feet and hit the ground hard.  More blood gushed from his nose.  The pain was making his mind reel and his stomach churn.  Rational thought was leaving him.  Nothing mattered more to him than killing Grindelwald before he killed everyone else.  Nothing.

            He stood up and said the last two words he ever thought he would.  "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

            When the green light faded, Grindelwald was nowhere to be seen.

~~~

            At the same time Grindelwald was turning the courtyard into ashes, Minerva was running through the school, looking for someone to aid in the fight.  It was a difficult task; Hogwarts was a large school, and the teachers were spread to every end of it.  She found Halo Pokeli and Jason Rose in the Transfiguration corridor, told them that Dumbledore and Grindelwald had fallen out the window, and then left to find more help.  Even with Rose and Pokeli – two of the school's most competent professors – going to help, Minerva couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had been following her for the last few minutes.  Dumbledore was in trouble, she knew it.  She could only hope the others would get there in time.

            Minerva came off the staircase leading to the fourth floor, went down a hall, rounded a corner, and then gasped as her eyes fell upon a familiar figure.  "Tom!"

            Tom Riddle turned around and looked at her.  "Minerva!  I thought you were with Dippet and Nay!"

            "And I thought you were with Cutler," she replied, referring to the Ancient Runes instructor.

            Tom shook his head, and a section of his dark hair fell into his eyes.  He reached up to brush it away and said, "I got ahead of him a few staircases ago, and we got separated.  I've been looking for him."

            "Then we'd better keep looking," Minerva said, taking her friend's wrist and breaking into a jog.  "Where do you think he could be?"

            "I can't be sure, but it looked like the staircase was going toward the library," Tom answered, jogging alongside her.

            Minerva groaned.  "But that's at the other end of the school!"

            "Yes, I know.  What about you?  Where's your escort?"

            She summarized the events that had taken place from the moment she heard Arabella's scream to Dumbledore's instructions after he and Grindelwald fell out the window.

            Tom's forehead wrinkled with concern as she spoke.  "So it's true?  Grindelwald _is_ here?"

            She nodded.  They reached the end of the corridor.  Minerva turned left and Tom turned right.  "Tom!" she said.

            Tom apologized and quickened his pace to catch up with her.  "I was… distracted."

            She could understand.  Finding out the most dangerous wizard in the world was inside a place thought to be safe from such an invasion was very distracting.  Even now, she was being distracted by another thought.  She hadn't told Tom what Grindelwald said about Indira – that she was Madeline Rahmini.  If that was true, it would explain a lot, but should she tell him?

            _Go ahead_, a voice in her head whispered.  _You can trust him.  He's your friend_.

            "Dippet and Nay…" Tom said.  "Are… are they dead?"

            "I don't know," Minerva answered.  "She had an awful-looking cut on her forehead, and I didn't even see him."

            _Should I tell him now?_

_            Yes, tell him_.

            She took a deep breath and said, "When… when I was dueling with Grindelwald, he said something about Nay.  I don't know if it's true or not, but…"

            "What did he say?"

            "He said she's Madeline Rahmini."

            Tom snorted.  "Indira Nay, Madeline Rahmini?  He _is_ insane."

            "But if she is, then it explains so much," Minerva replied.  "Why she won't talk about him, why he put so much effort into killing Catherine Nay, why she was so quick to say Madeline was dead, why she's… the way she is…"

            They passed a window, and Tom stopped in his tracks.  "Gods!" he exclaimed, a genuine look of shock on his false face.  "What the _fuck_?!?"

            Minerva looked out the window too and screamed.  A ring of fire was blazing in the courtyard below them, and suddenly, there was a flash of green light.  "Forget Cutler!" she said, and began sprinting.  "We've got to help Dumbledore!"

~~~

            Dumbledore didn't understand.  Where could Grindelwald have gone?  There was no sign of his body, and it was impossible to Apparate on Hogwarts grounds.  _He must have ran when I was down_, he realized.  _The coward!_

He took a deep breath and ran at the flames, then leapt through to the other side.  The ends of his outer robe had caught fire, and he cast it off without a second thought.  In the pale light, he could make out a figure racing toward the school, one that could only be Grindelwald.  "IMPEDIMENTA!"

            Grindelwald tripped and fell, and Dumbledore ran toward him as fast as he could.  A blast of light came his way, and he leapt to the side and rolled for several feet to avoid being hit.  He didn't know how much more his body could take; he was beginning to feel light-headed from blood loss, and every step was like was like walking barefoot on knives.  He knew Grindelwald preferred sadism, but he would kill quickly if he had to.  Dumbledore knew he had to take the battle away from Hogwarts.  That way, if he died, at least it would buy Hogwarts some more time to prepare their defenses.

            "Accio!" Dumbledore said, pointing his wand at a statue of a griffin that stood near an entrance to the school some fifty feet away.  Once the griffin was flying toward him, he shouted, "Portus!"

            The griffin began to glow.  Dumbledore reached Grindelwald, who was still on the ground.  The statue, now a portkey, was coming up fast.  Dumbledore seized Grindelwald's hand and pressed it, as well as his own, against portkey as it went past them, and they were taken away.

~~~

            Seconds later, Halo Pokeli and Jason Rose stepped out into the courtyard.  Both were shocked at the sight of the fire, and they began casting Extinguishing spells.  The flames died, but there was no sign of Dumbledore or anyone else.

            "I don't like this, Halo," Rose said, looking around.  "Something's not right.  Where _are_ they?"

            "What's that?" Pokeli asked, taking notice of something still burning on the ground.

            The two professors ran toward it to investigate.  "It's a cloak," Rose observed after putting out the flames.

            Their peripheral vision caught some movement, and they turned around, only to see Minerva McGonagall running toward them, with Tom Riddle on her heels.  "What's happened?" she asked.  "Where's Dumbledore?"

            "They're gone," said Pokeli.

            Minerva saw the cloak and gasped.  "That's Dumbledore's."  Frantic tears began forming in her eyes.  Where had they gone?  Help was so close… it could have ended then.  It _should_ have ended then.

            Pokeli sighed and looked toward the sky.  "Wherever they are, we no longer have any say in their fate."

~~~

            Dumbledore wasn't exactly certain where they came to rest, but he had a general idea.  His thoughts had not been specific when he turned the griffin into a Portkey; his only intent was to get them as far away from Hogwarts as possible.  And it worked.  He could not think of a single place near Hogwarts that had snow-capped crags jutting out of glaciers, their jagged peaks reaching for the menacing grey clouds overhead.  A storm was coming.  And not just from the elements.

            His eyes scanned the area for Grindelwald.  He couldn't be far.  A blast of icy wind hit him in the face, cutting like a knife into his skin.  A layer of frost was forming on his glasses, and with a frustrated grunt, he cast them aside.  He was farsighted anyway; surely he wouldn't need them for a battle that promised to be at close range.  He was surprised they hadn't been broken when Grindelwald hit him earlier.  At any rate, they would only hinder him, and he needed every advantage he could get.

            Once his glasses were out of the way, Dumbledore resumed his search for Grindelwald.  But it was Grindelwald who found him first.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a jet of red light coming his way just in time to jump out of the way.  It whizzed past his ear, singing the ends of his auburn hair as it did.  When he hit the ground, he slid for several feet on the hard surface.  _Ice_, he realized.  Battling on a field of ice would not be good for either of them.  He could make out a rocky overhang some fifty feet away; if he Apparated to the top of that, perhaps he could lure Grindelwald into following.

            Dumbledore Apparated just before another jet of light hit him.  It took Grindelwald a few moments to realize where he'd gone once he vanished, but when he did, he, too, relocated to the top of the small cliff.  "I never imagined you would be the type who wanted to die alone," Grindelwald sneered.  A small trail of blood trickled from the left corner of his mouth and froze in the air.

            "Who says I'm going to die?" Dumbledore asked, raising his wand.

            "I do!"

            "STUPEFY!" Dumbledore cried.

            Grindelwald blocked the attack with a Shield Charm and returned it was a Stunner of his own.  Dumbledore dodged the Stunner by dropping to his feet and tripping the other wizard.  Grindelwald landed on his back in the snow, and Dumbledore tried to Stun him again, but he rolled, and the Stunner missed.  Grindelwald reacted with a Blasting Curse, which made contact with Dumbledore's chest and sent him to the ground.  Both of them were back on their feet at the same time.

            "You are my equal in skill," Grindelwald observed with a hint of admiration to the voice that was as cold as their surroundings.  "My cause could benefit from someone like you."

            "We were all on your side once," Dumbledore replied.  "I do not believe anyone would be foolish to make that mistake again."

            A cruel smile crossed his face.  "Then however did I get into your fortress of a school?"

            His words caught Dumbledore completely by surprise.  Was he implying the involvement of someone within _Hogwarts_ _itself?_  "No!" he said.  "I don't believe it!"  Even as he spoke, everything was falling into place.  There was an insider.  It was the only way to explain how Grindelwald penetrated the school's defenses.

            "Madeline Rahmini had a Secret-Keeper," Grindelwald said.  "Why don't you ask _him_ how I got in?"

            Dumbledore didn't get any time to react to this statement; Grindelwald hit him with a Conjunctivitis Curse and then charged.  All Dumbledore could see was five Grindelwalds coming toward him, and he could only think of one way to get them all away from him until the curse wore off: a Banishing Charm.  He cast the charm.  All the Grindelwalds flew backward and then vanished.

            Dumbledore spent the next few moments while the curse wore off to ponder what had just happened.  When his vision returned, Grindelwald was still nowhere to be seen.  For a moment, Dumbledore feared he'd Apparated, but then realized he would have heard the crack.

            And then he realized something else.  While under the Conjunctivitis Curse, he'd become disoriented, and all he knew about where he was aiming was that it was at Grindelwald.  He had no idea where he'd banished Grindelwald.

            Until he noticed that he was turned toward the edge of the cliff.

            Dumbledore dashed to the edge and dropped to his knees.  There was a hole in the ice at the base of the cliff.  The ice was the frozen surface of a lake.  Grindelwald had fallen through.

            He Apparated to the hole in the ice and plunged his hand into the icy water, hoping he wasn't too late.  They needed Grindelwald alive.  There were too many questions they had that only he could answer.  He could feel nothing, and his arm was going numb.  He pulled it out, shook off the water, and was prepared to reach in again when something caught his eye: two pieces of wood floating on the surface.

            Grindelwald's wand.

            Dumbledore fished it out of the water and looked at the pieces.  It would be impossible to recover Grindelwald's body, and there was little chance that he was still alive; the fall alone would have killed him.  This broken wand would be the only proof that the terror of Grindelwald had finally been stopped.  And it was all the proof they needed.

~~~

            Half an hour later, an exhausted man pushed open the doors of the main entrance at Hogwarts, then collapsed to the stone floor.

~~~

SO SORRY this took so long!  Writer's block, other stories, all that good stuff.  I wish I could promise that the next chapter will be out MUCH sooner, but Freelancer-the-astrophysicist isn't getting the grades she wants, so… yeah.  But thanks for all your support, and I will do the best I can!  :o)

And no, Dumbledore's use of the Killing Curse will not go overlooked.


	19. In which Albus and Indira reach an under...

Woo hoo!  Another update!  Go me!  XD  Enjoy.

~~~

Chapter Nineteen: In which Albus and Indira reach an understanding

- March 18, 1945 -

~~~

            Warm, gentle rays of sunlight on his eyelids woke Dumbledore the next morning.  It took him a few moments to realize where he was; all the windows in his bedchambers faced west, and therefore, he was never woken up by direct sunlight.  As if he wasn't usually already awake before the sun rose, anyway.  He was also in a strange bed, in a very large room with a high ceiling, and every inch of his body ached.  Slowly, his memory came back to him.  He battled Grindelwald the night before, and passed out just inside the entrance upon his return to Hogwarts.  The logical explanation was that he was in the hospital wing.

            He tried to sit up, but it was too painful.  However, a familiar voice made him forget the pain.  "Oh, good; you're awake."

            He turned his head in the direction of the voice and smiled.  "Minerva…"

            She was sitting in a chair next to his bed.  She smiled back at him and placed her hand on his arm.  "I'll tell Madam Tyburski you're awake."

            Dumbledore was surprised to hear that the notoriously strict school nurse allowed anyone in the hospital wing while she had so many patients, and said so.  "Tom and I are both here," Minerva explained.  "Madam Tyburski wasn't about to refuse our help; I was one of the patients for a few hours, actually.  Two professors are dead and three, including you, were not in good condition.  Not to mention Martin, Kyle, and Arabella."

            "Are they all right?" he asked, remembering that they had been Stunned.

            Minerva nodded.  "They'll be fine.  Madam Tyburski has been giving most of her attention to Professor Dippet and Professor Nay.  They… are not doing as well as we'd hoped."

            "They're not?" Dumbledore said, and his brow creased with worry.  "How did they get buried under those rocks, anyway?"

            "Grindelwald made the wall behind them explode," she answered.  "We almost lost Dippet, but Madam Tyburski has been working her magic on him.  Nay wasn't much better, but she'll be all right, too."

            He was glad to hear that they would live, but the point remained that it shouldn't have happened at all.  Not to mention that Professor Turner and Professor Bacall hadn't been lucky enough to survive.  Grindelwald's defeat raised more questions than it answered.  How did he enter the school?  How did Minerva know about it beforehand?  And what part did a child who had been dead for twenty years play in all of this?

            Minerva rose to her feet and walked over to Madam Tyburski, who was at the far end of the room, returning moments later with the nurse close behind.  The younger woman stood back and allowed the nurse to work without anyone getting in the way.  Dumbledore, who didn't like having people make a fuss over him, was quickly ready to insist that the nurse return to the rest of her patients.  Or at least give him information on them.

            "I'm fine, Laura," he said as she circled him like a vulture.

            "Of course you are," Madam Tyburski said dismissively.

            "May I inquire as to the status of the other patients from last night's raid?" Dumbledore asked.

            "The three students were dismissed an hour ago," she answered.

            "And Armando and Indira?"

            She didn't answer.

            "Laura?"

            "Don't worry about them right now," Madam Tyburski replied.  "I want you to worry about you and no one else."

            Dumbledore shook his head.  "You are asking the impossible.  A Gryffindor cannot be expected to worry only about himself."

            "Indira will have no long-term damage, but she will have quite a headache when she wakes up."

            "And Armando?"

            The nurse said something, but he didn't catch it, and he asked her to repeat it.  Frustrated, Madam Tyburski glared at him and said, "The headmaster sustained a great amount of cranial injury.  I do not yet know the full extent of it, but I will say the chances that he'll ever walk again are slim to none."

            Dumbledore sat up, ignoring the pain in his aching body and the lightheadedness that happens when one sits up too quickly.  "What?" he said, certain there had to be a mistake.  That was impossible… wasn't it?

            Minerva took a few steps toward him, then stopped.

            "You heard me," Madam Tyburski said quietly, her voice wavering.  "Now lie down."

            He obeyed, but not willingly.  He hated this helpless feeling, even though he knew there was nothing he could do.  He and Minerva made eye contact, and he knew she felt the same way.  It was in their nature to do anything and everything they could to help.  They never felt more worthless than when they were doing nothing.

            Just then, Tom Riddle appeared at Minerva's side.  "Madam Tyburski," he said.

            The nurse turned around.  "Yes?"

            "Professor Nay's awake."

            "Thank you, Riddle," Madam Tyburski said.  "You and Miss McGonagall may go now."

            "But there's still more we can do," Minerva protested.

            "The both of you have been up all night," Madam Tyburksi said.  "Your efforts have been greatly appreciated, but now you need to rest."

            As much as he knew Minerva would hate it, Dumbledore voiced the fact that he agreed with the nurse.  The Head Boy and Girl, though they would never admit it, looked ready to fall over.  Knowing it was not a battle they could win, Tom and Minerva left without any further protest.  He watched them go, then gave his attention to Madam Tyburski.  "I need to speak with Indira."

            Madam Tyburski looked at him like he'd lost his mind.

            "Not at once," he added quickly, "but as soon as I can."  He had questions for her.  Somehow, he knew she was more involved in this than she claimed.

            The nurse nodded and left to tend to her other patient.  She returned not long after with a weary, defeated look on her face.  "She wants to speak with you, too," she reported.  "Alone."

~~~

            Two minutes later, the heads of Gryffindor and Slytherin were sitting in a private room off to the side with the door locked and bolted.

            "All right," Indira said, massaging her temples.  "Talk."

            Dumbledore hadn't felt this confused since his first Arithmancy class back in his third year as a student.  "Talk about what?"

            She groaned and dropped her left hand.  "Take a wild guess."

            "Grindelwald."

            "Mmm hmm," she said in a cynical tone.  "Now talk."

            He had no idea what to say, let alone why she wanted him to talk about Grindelwald at all.  "He's dead," he said.  "I killed him."

            "Did you watch him die?"

            "He fell off a cliff and through a foot of solid ice," Dumbledore said.  "I found his wand broken and floating in the water.  Even if the fall didn't kill him, the ice would long before he had time to recover his senses."

            He expected an instantaneous reply.  He didn't get one.  Indira was silent, her thoughtful gaze fixed on the floor, and the fingers of her right hand still rubbing her temple.  A large bandage covered most of her forehead, and Dumbledore remembered Minerva telling him that she had a serious cut.  He could only imagine the headache she had now.

            Indira stopped rubbing her head and looked at him.  Gone was the fire that usually burned in her emerald eyes.  "I just had to hear it from you," she said.  "Thank you."

            She turned her head and looked as though she was about to stand, but Dumbledore stopped her.  "Not so fast," he said.  "It's my turn."

            "What do you mean?" she asked.

            "I have a question as well," he replied, "a question I believe you can answer."

            A spark of life appeared in her eyes.  "Then ask, and I shall answer if I can."

            Dumbledore pressed the tips of his long fingers together, looked her in the eyes, and said, "How do you play into all of this?"

            Her forehead wrinkled in confusion.  "What?"

            "Do not take me for a fool, Indira," he said.  "I know you haven't been telling us something.  You've been acting strangely ever since I said Minerva McGonagall believed Grindelwald was coming here.  Then at the meeting, when she told us that a name was sticking out in her mind, and that name was Madeline Rahmini, you immediately said Madeline Rahmini was dead.  Later, I heard that name again – from Grindelwald himself."

            "I don't know what you want me to say, Albus," Indira said.

            "I believe," Dumbledore said quietly, "that if we can solve the Madeline Rahmini mystery, then we can find out how Grindelwald got into Hogwarts."

            They stared at each other for a few moments, neither one daring to look away.  Then Dumbledore spoke again.  "Since you seem to be the authority on the subject, I thought I should ask you."

            Indira's eyes broke contact with his and turned toward the wall on her left.  "Who would know more about Madeline Rahmini," she said so softly he could barely hear, "than Madeline herself?"

            He was about to ask her what she meant by this, and then his mind put together enough pieces for him to see the truth.

            Indira Nay _was_ Madeline Rahmini.

            "You told us she was dead," he said, not knowing where else to begin.

            "She is dead to me," she replied.  "She is a ghost of the past that haunts me every day.  He held me captive for a year – do you not think I would have rather died than endure what he did to me?"

            "How did you escape?" he asked.  She must have been very young at the time – eight at the most.  How could a child have gotten away from the most powerful dark wizard in the world and evaded him for so long?

            Indira held up her right hand, and Dumbledore noticed a faint scar that ran diagonally across her palm, and also on her fingers and thumb.  "The shard of glass that took his eye cut the hand that held it, too," she answered, and pulled her hand back to her body.

            Now that he knew the truth, he wasn't so sure he wanted to.  "I'm so sorry."

            "Don't be," she said.  "I don't believe in sympathy."

            "What about empathy?"

            She studied him for a few moments, looked away, then said, "That's right; he killed your sister, didn't he?"

            He nodded.  "And nothing – not tears, not blood, not killing him – nothing can bring Lucy back."  He sighed and looked at the floor, the memories making his heart ache like the rest of him.  She and her network had been so close to stopping Grindelwald – what if they had succeeded then?  He knew he had to stop thinking those sorts of thoughts.  It was too late to go back now.  "I miss her so much."

            "I miss my family, too."

            They looked up at the same time, and in each others' eyes, they saw the same grief they felt in their own hearts.

            "I think," Dumbledore said, "that we are finally beginning to understand each other, Indira."

            He smiled at her, and she found herself smiling back.  Her smile faded, though, when she realized something.  "That tells us _why_ he – Grindelwald – wanted to get into Hogwarts, but it we still don't know _how_."

            "You're right," he mused.  "We don't."  He thought back to his battle with Grindelwald, recalling something the dark wizard had said: _Madeline Rahmini had a Secret-keeper.  _"Was there a Fidelius Charm involved in keeping your location from him for so long?"

            "Yes," Indira answered.  "Only a precaution, since Hogwarts is the safest place for me to be, but yes, there is a  charm."

            "He could not have found you unless the Secret-keeper disclosed your location," said Dumbledore.  "My guess is whoever did it also helped him get in.  Do you know who the Secret-keeper is?"

            She gasped, half in shock, half in realization of the obvious.  "Armando…"


	20. In which Armando's integrity is question...

Bet you're getting sick of my apologies for so few updates. Well, I have a _real_ excuse this time: final exams and a computer crash. It's summer now, though, so if my computer gets fixed, they might come out more frequently. I was actually kind of hoping to finish it this summer, but… it doesn't look like that'll happen.

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Chapter Twenty: In which Armando's integrity is questioned

- That evening -

* * *

Indira's revelation haunted Dumbledore for the rest of the day. Madam Tyburski would not allow either of them to leave the hospital wing, and when Dumbledore insisted on having a staff meeting, the mediwitch sent word to those who remained asking that they come to them. Dumbledore knew the situation was severe and had to be dealt with and discussed as soon as possible. He did not want to believe the headmaster betrayed them, but regardless, all the evidence was against him.

Five minutes before the meeting was scheduled to begin, the weary Madam Tyburski came up to Dumbledore's bed and said, "He's awake."

Dumbledore had half hoped that Dippet would be unconscious during the meeting so they could discuss their speculations without him hearing, but decided that in light of the situation, it would be better if they came straight out with it. That would allow him to defend himself before they jumped to any conclusions.

"Thank you," said Dumbledore. "I would like to see him."

Madam Tyburski was through arguing with him. "Go ahead."

Dumbledore stepped out of the bed, slipped a robe on over his nightshirt, then took his wand off the endtable next to the bed and conjured up a pair of slippers. Slowly, painfully, he made his way over to Dippet. He levitated an armchair that had been brought in for the meeting over to the headmaster's bedside, and once both were at their destination, he sat down.

Dippet was indeed awake; he was even propped up in the bed and appeared to be fully alert. His face was covered with bruises, and there was a large bulge on his forehead near the hairline. He studied his deputy for a few moments, then said, "It is good to see you alive, my friend."

"Likewise," Dumbledore returned, and wondered if he really _was_ Dippet's "friend."

"What happened?"

Dumbledore briefly recounted the events of the previous night.

"So he is dead?" Dippet asked, referring to Grindelwald.

"I have no reason to believe otherwise."

Dippet tried to nod his head in acknowledgement, but it was too painful. After that, he attempted to massage the pain away, but touching his forehead only made it worse. "Was anyone else hurt?"

Dumbledore's face darkened, and Dippet swore he saw tears forming in the corners of the compassionate wizard's eyes. "We lost Arielle and Christina, and very nearly Indira and four students."

"No…"

Dumbledore nodded, and the two men were silent for a few minutes. There were no words that could be said.

Dippet eventually broke the silence with a sigh and said, "Does anyone know how he got into the school in the first place?"

"Funny you should mention that now," Dumbledore replied, and glanced over his shoulder. The staff members were beginning to enter the large room. "As a matter of fact, there _is_ a theory, and we were just about to discuss it."

Dippet's interest perked. "Really?"

Dumbledore didn't get a chance to reply; the other staff members were flocking to them and asking questions faster than they could possibly be answered. He noticed Indira wasn't among their numbers, but he wasn't surprised; in light of what she realized that morning, he imagined it would be difficult for her to face Dippet. It was difficult enough for Dumbledore. The two of them had gone to school together – the headmaster was five years younger than the deputy – and though differences in age and house kept them from forming a close friendship at the time, there existed a mutual respect between them. Now, years later, Dumbledore could not bring himself to believe that the bright, likable young Ravenclaw-with-Gryffindor-tendencies-who-should-have-been-in-Hufflepuff (as Dumbledore and a few of his friends had named him) was capable of an act of evil any more easily than he could have in their youth.

Indira eventually found her way over to the gathering. She and Dumbledore exchanged a glance, but neither spoke. She would not look at Dippet.

Once all the murmering had died down, Halo Pokeli asked the question on all of their minds to begin the discussion. "You said you had a theory, Dumbledore," the head of Ravenclaw said. "What is it?"

"We believe we know why Grindelwald wanted to enter Hogwarts," Dumbledore said.

"A reason other than because he didn't have anything better to do?" Professor Rose asked bitterly.

Dumbledore ignored Rose's sarcasm and continued. "Aside from the obvious fact that within these walls is the future of our world, he was looking for someone."

"Who?" inquired Professor Haas.

Dumbledore looked at Indira. She stared back at him for a few moments, then sighed and gave an answer. "Madeline Rahmini."

"You said yourself that she was dead," said Professor Dorrenbacher.

"Only to some."

The general reaction to her response was one of irritation and confusion. Most of the next half hour was spent hearing a recount of Indira's life and why she refused to tell them anything before. It ended with her promising to curse anyone who spoke of it again.

_She'd do it, too_, Dumbledore thought as Indira delivered her threat.

A moment of silence followed, and then a look of horror crossed Dippet's face. "The Fidelius Charm…" the headmaster said. "You think it was me!"

"There are… strong implications," Dumbledore said. He turned his head away, feeling too guilty to look Dippet in the eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Dr. Kadish asked.

Indira took the question. "When I came to Hogwarts, Michael Nay, my adoptive father, requested additional protection. He and Professor Dippet arranged a Fidelius Charm, unbeknownst to anyone else at the time, including me. I found out about the charm a few months later, and that Professor Dippet was the Secret-keeper two weeks ago."

"I would never betray _any_ of you!" Dippet said defensively. "You know this!"

He and Indira looked at each other; her cold, green eyes against his desperate brown. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it and looked away.

"You must believe me!" Dippet said. "I would die before I revealed you to him!"

Dumbledore, who had been staring at the floor trying to figure out the missing link in this chain of events, suddenly looked up. His pale blue eyes were filled with revelation behind his half-moon glasses. "You almost did."

Silence. And then…

"The Imperius Curse!" Dippet exclaimed. "Of course!" Then he cringed and brought his hand to his forehead, then pulled it away quickly when he remembered that contact only made it hurt more. All the commotion was making his head spin.

Madam Tyburski saw her patient's movement and came over, demanding that the staff meeting end now.

"No," Dippet said, waving her away. "This must be solved. My innocence cannot be proven until we find whoever put that curse on me!"

"_Nothing_ can be proven until a course of action is decided upon," said Dumbledore.

"He's right," said Haas, "but what can we do?"

Dumbledore thought for a moment before giving an answer, recalling the series of peculiar events that had taken place over the last few days, from Minerva's modified memory to Grindelwald's attack on Hogwarts to the truth about Indira. The traitor was obviously someone within the school itself, someone who was always several steps ahead of everyone else. It had to be someone who knew Indira could be used. However, in order to neutralize the Fidelius Charm, Grindelwald's insider had to know about it in the first place, and Dumbledore seriously doubted the connection between the dark wizard and the head of Slytherin was common knowledge. Someone had to enter her mind and find out for them self, which could only mean…

"Legilimency," Dumbledore realized. "The culprit is a Legilimens."

"Then it must be a staff member," Professor Rose immediately assumed, and could not keep his eyes from glancing around at his peers. "No student, even if they'd tried to study Legilimency, is powerful enough to penetrate _her_ mind."

Indira stared at the floor self-consciously and muttered, "My mind is not as strong as you think."

"Don't be so sure, Jason," Dumbledore said. "Some of these students can do great things. Minerva McGonagall is an Animagus, and I daresay that is just as difficult as becoming a sufficiently powerful Legilimens for the purposes we have witnessed."

He took a deep breath and looked around at his colleagues. "Everyone must be interrogated – students, staff, everyone. No one is above suspicion. The only way we can be certain is Veritaserum."

"Are you suggesting we give _every single person _at Hogwarts _Veritaserum_?" exclaimed Professor Eckersley.

"No, Daniel, I am pointing out that it is the only way we can be certain."

"I will write to the Ministry of Magic immediately and request an approval for its use," Dippet said wearily.

"How will it be made?" Indira asked. "We've lost our Potions Master."

"I will make it," Dumbledore said. "I am no stranger to the making of complex and dangerous potions, and I can enlist the help of my old partner."

His competency was not questioned. They all knew of Dumbledore's work with the famous alchemist Nicolas Flamel and their discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood.

"That settles it," said Dippet. "This will be our course of action. House heads, I would like each of you to meet with your prefects and come up with a plan for interrogating the students, and I will draw up one for the faculty…"

Dippet's voice was filtered out of Dumbledore's mind as the head of Gryffindor house took notice of a tabby cat with square markings around its eyes slipping out the back entrance.

* * *

Minerva was not happy with the faculty's decision.

"So that's it, then?" she said when Dumbledore cornered her outside the entrance to the Gryffindor tower an hour later. "You're going to spend all this time and money on interrogating every single person at Hogwarts? Isn't there another way? You don't even know it was someone _in_ Hogwarts!"

"You're right; we _don't_," Dumbledore said, "but the chances are very high."

The young woman folded her arms across her chest. "I don't think it's fair that you're suspecting the students," she said. "_None_ of them are powerful enough to be capable of what you're suggesting. None."

He couldn't help noticing her use of the word "them" as opposed to "us" when referring to the student body. "Minerva, you _are_ Head Girl, but you are still a student," he reminded her. "It's not your job or place to decide what's best. Not at this time."

She narrowed her eyes. "It's not, is it?" she said. "Well, forgive me for questioning the morality of giving the most powerful truth serum known to man to an _eleven year old_!"

She was not shouting, but she was close, and Dumbledore knew that if he didn't keep his head together, he would find himself raising his voice in return. "It's the only way we can be certain," he said. "Grindelwald could have killed you, and-"

"And three of my best friends," she interrupted, "and he _did_ kill two women I looked up to! You think finding out how he got in here doesn't matter to me? It _does_! But so do _they_!"

She thrust out her arm for emphasis and nearly hit a passing first-year in the face. The friend he was with pulled him away just in time, and the two boys clambered into the portrait hole before they heard any more. It was not uncommon to see two students arguing, but a public dispute between a student and faculty member was unheard of, especially when the student and faculty member in question were Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore.

"Then unless you have another suggestion," Dumbledore said coolly, "I would advise that you get used to this one."

"Good night," was her reply, and before he could stop her, she disappeared into the tower.

He sighed as he watched the portrait of the Fat Lady swing shut behind her. He could easily follow her in, but he had no desire to continue their argument, especially if it could reveal information about their less-than-professional relationship. _She's just upset_, he told himself. _Give her some time to get used to the idea, and she, too, will see that it's the only way_.

But was it _really_ the only way? He wasn't sure. _And she did have some good points_, he thought as he made his way back through the school in the direction of his chambers. In order to be fair, the Veritaserum had to be used on everyone, and though there would be nothing to fear if there was nothing to hide, that didn't make it right.

Dumbledore's mind kept repeating one name over and over again: Tom Riddle. He couldn't shake the feeling that had come over him the previous night at the staff meeting, when he and the Head Boy looked at each other. For an instant, it had felt like Tom was trying to probe his mind, but the sensation was too fleeting to be certain. Then there was the matter of Indira being unable to locate Paul Garret during the emergency House meetings. Dumbledore didn't know whether or not Paul was still unaccounted for, and he decided it would be a good idea to investigate that.

_One way or another, we will find who did this and bring them to justice_.

If only it was that easy.

* * *

Anyone ever seen _Gattaca_? This chapter reminded me of that movie for some reason.


	21. In which Tom finds a way out

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful and amazingly talented Lanzer, who drew a cover for the fic!! The link's in my profile. Check it out – it's GORGEOUS.

Now for some comment-y stuff. Since Percy was a prefect in Chamber of Secrets, which would have been his sixth year, I took the liberty of assuming there would be prefects for sixth and seventh years as well as fifth. It's come up in this story before, I think, and it comes up again in this chapter, which is why I explained my reasoning.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two: In which Tom finds a way out

- A few moments later -

* * *

Arithmancy was one of Minerva McGonagall's favorite classes. It was a difficult and rather obscure area of study, and to her, that made it even more fascinating. It was also the smallest class at Hogwarts. NEWT level Arithmancy had a grand total of four students. All were among the brightest at the school: besides Minerva, there were Harry Landis and Ian Reichlin, who were both Ravenclaw prefects, though in different years, and Neil Stone from Slytherin, who had narrowly lost the position of Head Boy to Tom Riddle. Alain Haas, the head of Hufflepuff, taught the class, and though most teachers tended to favor their houses, if only subconsciously, Professor Haas did not. He treated all students like they were of his house, and he often said that they were: Hogwarts house. Individual attention from a well-liked teacher and an ideal class size combined for an educational experience that was enjoyable as well as productive.

So naturally, Minerva was rather upset when she was pulled out of it to answer questions about something she couldn't even remember.

"I don't understand, Professor Dippet," the young woman said to the wheelchair-ridden headmaster of her school. Her voice echoed up and down the empty stone corridor. "I've already told you that the only thing I remember about seeing Grindelwald was his face."

"I know," Dippet said, "but please, hear me out. You must have been doing something earlier that day that would eventually place you in the situation in which you ended up. Had anything happened that day that was out of the ordinary? Anything at all?"

Minerva looked at Dippet for a few moments without answering, and her irritation changed into something else: pity. She could only imagine what Dippet was going through, but her imagination was very good. The world would want answers for what happened, and he was the one from whom they would be demanded. He could not mourn the deaths of his friends or even attempt to recover from his own injury until the mystery was solved. The responsibility of his position was more than great; it was overwhelming, and the toll it must be taking on him was equally such. No matter how irrelevant his questions might seem, she was obligated to answer them if he thought it would help.

"Yes," she finally said. "I… I was afraid that a friend of mine might be doing something he shouldn't, so I followed him." She didn't want to give the name, afraid that she might implicate Tom for something he couldn't possibly have done.

"Where did you follow him?" Dippet asked.

"Around the school," Minerva answered. "He went to the library, to his house common room, to the Owlery… nothing suspicious."

Dippet nodded. "And you're _certain_ you didn't follow him out to Grindelwald."

"I am," Minerva said firmly. "I gave up when he showed no indication that he was up to something. That much I remember. He could not have been involved." Besides, it wasn't in his character. Tom Riddle was a hero, not some sort of fiendish snake.

"Why did you suspect he was up to something, anyway?"

She looked at the floor and recalled the glint in Riddle's eyes when she passed him in the hall that day. The memory sent a shiver down her back. "This probably sounds stupid, but…" She lifted her head and looked at Dippet. "Have you ever looked someone in the eyes and just…"

There was no need for her to finish the thought. He knew what she was trying to say, for he had experienced it himself before. "Yes."

Minerva looked at the floor again.

"Who was it?"

And back at him.

"Miss McGonagall," Dippet said firmly, "please tell me the name."

* * *

"Look at this," Tom Riddle said to Paul Garrett, pointing out a passage in _Moste Potente Potions_. "Active ingredients of Veritaserum."

Paul sighed and took the thick, dusty, ancient book from his friend. "Jobberknoll feathers, spine of lionfish, aconite. So?"

"So we make a serum to counteract the effects of the active ingredients," Tom replied as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Aconite's poisonous, so we'll need a bezoar to protect against that. The combination of asphodel and daisy roots protects that within Veritaserum itself, but asphodel and wormwood, which will counter the lionfish, in the same potion makes you break out in purple boils. Then we add some essence of belladonna to counter the Jobberknoll feathers."

Paul snorted. He was very good at Potions; better than Tom gave him credit for. "Great plan, except the combination of wormwood and essence of belladonna is fatal in the amounts you're talking about."

A menacing grin crept across Tom's face. "Exactly."

Paul felt sick. "You can't be..."

"Oh, don't worry," said Tom. "It's not for us. Professor Dorrenbacher asked me to get something for him from Records yesterday, and while I was down there, I found something _very_ interesting..."

* * *

Interrogating Minerva left Dippet with mixed feelings. Objectively, it had been a success - he wanted a name, and he got one. However, the name he'd been given was the last one he'd ever expected. No wonder Minerva had been hesitant to tell him; undoubtedly, she had been struggling with believing it herself. Difficult as it was, though, Dippet knew he could not let his personal feelings get in the way of the investigation. It was his duty to let the head of his house that Tom Riddle was a suspect.

Dippet wasn't sure which idea he liked less, incriminating Riddle or speaking to Indira. Few words had been exchanged between them since the attack, and when they spoke, it was only out of necessity. Circumstances being what they were, he couldn't blame her for wanting to keep him at a distance - here was a man who was kissing her one minute and the next, as far as she knew, was handing her over to her worst enemy. His feeling for her could not have picked a worse time to make themselves known. But nothing could remain secret forever, and it was too late to change what had happened.

He delayed the inevitable confrontation until the end of classes that day. At five after three, when the last of the second-year Hufflepuffs trickled out of her classroom, he guided his wheelchair through the door. She was walking down the center aisle toward her desk. Her shoulders were hunched and her hair was in a single braid that hung to her waist. She heard him, stopped, and turned around, but did not speak.

"You cut your hair," Dippet said, feeling the urge to say anything, no matter how stupid it was.

"It was too heavy," Indira replied indifferently. "I couldn't hold my head up anymore."

He wondered how much hair could weigh, anyway. His had never been long enough to cause pain. "Indira, there have been some new developments," he said, getting to the point. "I spoke with Minerva McGonagall about an hour and a half ago, and I now have reason to believe someone may be more deeply involved in this than we have been led to believe."

It was the first time in a week she seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say. "Who?"

"Tom Riddle."

"Tom Riddle?" she repeated. The spark of hope that had appeared in her eyes a moment ago vanished and was replaced by an expression of confusion. "That doesn't make sense."

"Does any of this?" Dippet asked, as much to himself as to her.

Indira sighed. "You're right. What should we do?"

"I don't know what we _can_ do other than wait for the Veritaserum," he said. "Maybe monitor his activities..."

"But if he _is _involved, and he realizes we're on to him, that could be dangerous, especially now that we've been weakened," she pointed out.

She had a point, but he didn't know what to do about it. Dippet sighed and looked at the stone floor. In order to be certain about Riddle, they would need to interrogate him with Veritaserum, but it would still be three weeks before it was finished. In three weeks' time, though, if the culprit was still under their noses, he would have all the opportunity he needed to finish what he started. They were treading on dangerous ground.

"What are you going to do?" Indira asked, noticing his silence.

Not looking up, he replied with, "Disappear until I figure out why I never have an answer."

She looked at him for a moment, then sighed and placed her hands on a desk in the front row, letting her head and shoulders slump. Only now was she truly beginning to see what Dippet was up against. It was the nature of Slytherins to be ambitious, but Indira was content with her position as a house head and had no desire to move further up in the Hogwarts hierarchy, especially to that of headmistress. This incident, no matter who turned out to be behind it, would only have one ending in the eyes of the public: Armando Dippet's inability to protect the school. And she was certain their friendship didn't help to relieve the stress he was under.

_Their friendship_… were they even really friends? Their kiss on top of the Astronomy Tower had certainly been more than friendly, but things had been awkward – even hostile – since that incident. She wanted to trust him, to believe that he didn't betray her, but everything was traceable back to him. All they had was his word. She had no idea how he truly felt about her. She didn't even have any idea how _she_ truly felt about _him_. If nothing else, though, they should be there for each other as colleagues, and maybe, someday, as friends. Only time would tell.

"We will monitor Riddle," she said suddenly, standing up straight again. "We will enlist the help of the ghosts and portraits in this task, and when the Veritaserum is finished, he will be the first to be interrogated. The second will be Minerva McGonagall. It's just a little too convenient that she knows so much, and if she is telling the truth, the potion may help bring forth information lost to her conscious thought."

_It figures that she would be the first one with the balls to make this sort of decision_, Dippet thought. "Where would I be without you, Indira?"

She began walking toward the door and muttered something he didn't catch.

"What was that?"

She opened the door, and just before stepping out, repeated her reply without looking at him. "Probably on your feet."

* * *

Dumbledore had been pondering the advice Flamel gave him all day, but he wasn't entirely sure about how to go about putting it into action. He found himself wishing more than ever that Minerva was older. If only he could go up to the girl – woman – he cared so much about without worrying about the world's reaction! At the same time, though, there was excitement in the secrecy. Engaging in a forbidden relationship was something he never thought he'd do, and it made every day a challenge. He loved the knowing smile she used to give him when no one was watching and even the way the other teachers would look at him as if they suspected something but couldn't put their finger on just what it could be. How shocked they would all be when Minerva graduated and their relationship would no longer be taboo.

But first he had to make sure they still _had_ a relationship.

Flamel had insisted that Dumbledore take a break from the Veritaserum – they had reached a low-maintenance stage and he couldn't concentrate, anyway. The head of Gryffindor house was lying face-up on his bed, staring at the stone ceiling and losing himself in his own thoughts and misery. He missed Minerva. He wondered if she missed him. He even found himself wondering if what they had was worth saving. _Stop thinking like that_, he told himself. _Of course this is worth saving. It's just a difficult time right now._ Once it had passed, things would smooth themselves out, and life would settle back down to its normal level of chaos. All he had to do was wait.

_I don't **want **to wait._

He missed her so much that it was causing him physical pain. A perpetual stomachache prevented him from eating, and nor could he sleep. He knew he was in better condition than others – Armando Dippet specifically – but he was worse than he would have been if not for the added complication of Minerva. He thought back to the disagreement that had started all of this, right after the decision to use Veritaserum was made. _I could have handled that more diplomatically_, he realized, recalling that he'd made it very clear she was still a student and thereby implicating that she didn't have the mental capacity to understand the decision. Minerva was very proud, and that statement probably hurt her more than she would ever admit. Was there any way to repair the damage this mess had caused?

If there was, Dumbledore didn't have time to ponder it then. A fist began banging on the door to his chambers, and he immediately sat up. The banging continued, increasing in intensity. Dumbledore moved swiftly to the door and opened it, where Ancient Runes instructor Bradford Cutler was standing with a frantic look in his eyes.

"Albus, there's been another death," Cutler said breathlessly. "And it's a student this time."

Dumbledore felt as though a frozen hand seized his heart. "Who?"

"Neil Stone."


	22. In which the stress builds up

We-ell here it be, me hearties. Sorry for the delay; this time, I have another real excuse besides writer's block – my boyfriend broke my computer so I had to rewrite this chapter from scratch and I've been flying all over the country for the last few weeks, but mostly… still writer's block. This story's almost 100 pages long – can you believe it? I can't…

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One: In which the stress builds up

- March 26, 1945 -

* * *

A week passed. Permission for vast amounts of Veritaserum that needed to be made for the interrogations had been granted by the Ministry of Magic, and within hours, Albus Dumbledore had begun making the powerful truth serum. The famous alchemist Nicolas Flamel arrived the next day, and the two of them became so absorbed in their work that Dumbledore was late for class more than once. Paul Garrett was cleared of any suspicions of his whereabouts on the night of March seventeenth; the three trustworthy Gryffindor students who had seen him believed his story about working on a potion in the dungeons, and their testimony was enough to rid Armando Dippet's overcrowded mind of one concern.

Minerva McGonagall was still not speaking to Dumbledore, and he was no longer attempting to make the peace. He knew enough about women to know that they were irrational, and it was better to let their anger run its course. The most irrational woman _at_ Hogwarts, Indira Nay, was also having relationship problems. Though Dippet swore he was not the one who revealed her location to Grindelwald and she believed him, there was a degree of suspicion that would not be lifted until the mystery was solved. Furthermore, though neither could rid their mind of their encounter on top of the Astronomy tower that fateful night, both were acting as though it had never happened.

Tom Riddle, meanwhile, was trying to figure out a way to cover his tracks after the disastrous Grindelwald incident. In his mind, having so many close calls, being so close to succeeding, and _then_ failing was worse than failing at the very beginning. Grindelwald was dead, Albus Dumbledore and Indira Nay were not, and now everyone at Hogwarts was going to be given Veritaserum and questioned. "Everyone" would certainly include himself and Paul Garrett. He and his accomplice spent hours at a time looking for an antidote to Veritaserum in the library, but none could be found. Paul was beginning to see a new side of his friend, a side he never imagined could exist and was starting to frighten him. Tom was obsessive, and when he set his mind on something, he didn't care how it got done, just that it did. He hadn't slept in days, devoting all his time to searching for an antidote, and he threatened to turn Paul in if he didn't do the same.

No one, however, was under more stress than Armando Dippet.

When news of Grindelwald's entrance into Hogwarts leaked out, the headmaster was bombarded with an endless wave of owls from every sort of person imaginable, from concerned family members of students to reporters from the _Daily Prophet_ to the Minister of Magic himself. The people were not stupid; they knew there was a reason Grindelwald chose to attack Hogwarts at that time, and that he could not have entered the school on his own. Furthermore, the headmaster was plagued by Madam Tyburski's concerns that he may never be able to walk. He had no feeling in his legs and was confined to a wheelchair; a wheelchair charmed to go up and down stairs, otherwise he would never be able to get around Hogwarts, but a wheelchair nonetheless. It made him look as helpless as he felt. The nurse assured him that if there was a way to get him on his feet again, they would find it, but this was beyond her area of knowledge. His case had been referred to a hospital in Barcelona that specialized in non-magical illness and injury for wizards. It was the only one in Europe of its kind; wizards rarely fell victim to maladies that could not be cured by magic, and the majority of their healers had received training in Muggle medicine as well as magical. Though a small part of him looked forward to returning to his native Spain, if only for a short time, he knew that Barcelona was just like the rest of Europe: torn by the great Muggle war whose end looked near, but would never be forgotten.

So far, no information other than Grindelwald came into Hogwarts and soon met his death had been released, not even the murder of the two teachers. None of this would be able to remain secret for long. The outside world had a right to know what was going on at Hogwarts, but Dippet wondered if they had the right to know _why_.

Which brought his mind to another subject.

In the sixteen years he'd known her, no single person had ever caused him as much grief as Indira Nay. She was an endless source of mystery, anger, and obsession, as aloof and cold-blooded as the symbol of her house. She had changed little since the first time she came through the doors of Hogwarts, and though she quickly proved to be a brilliant student, she rarely spoke and was highly antisocial, which the other students perceived as arrogance, and consequently, made no more attempt to reach out to her than she did to them. To an extent, they were right; Indira _was_ arrogant, but then again, she was a Rahmini, and the last of a powerful, respected line of purebloods that once held influence in not only Britain, but all over the world. And she was very, very good at what she did. Considering the danger Grindelwald's sick obsession with her put not only her, but Hogwarts in, Dippet often wondered whether or not it was prudent to have her on staff. In truth, they had hired her out of necessity, and her position was meant to be held by her only until someone older, more experienced, and less dangerous came along. Within a few weeks, though, the staff universally acknowledged that she was the finest Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor they'd had that century, and her job was made permanent. Dippet knew Grindelwald could not be kept away from her forever, though, and last week, his fears were realized.

The fault, however, was not Indira's. It was his.

She had every right to be suspicious of him. He was, after all, her Secret-keeper, or had been. Undoubtedly a switch had been performed while he was under the Imperius Curse, but in order for that to happen, one had to know she was being protected by a Fidelius Charm and that he was the Secret-keeper in the first place. Dumbledore's Legilimency theory was not just possible, it was likely, but what Hogwarts student would be powerful enough to become a Legilimens? He could only think of two – Minerva McGonagall and Tom Riddle. The Head Boy and Girl were both astonishingly clever for not only their ages, but for anyone. Both showed real promise, and both were unquestioningly loyal to Hogwarts. It didn't make any sense that one of them would be at fault, and if it weren't for Minerva, more people would have died. She was, after all, the one who saw Grindelwald.

_Of course!_

He wondered why he didn't realize it sooner. Minerva was the key to all of this. Someone wouldn't put a memory charm on her just because. Perhaps, if she could remember what she had been doing _earlier_ that day, that would give them an idea of what could have led up to the placement of the charm. He needed to speak with her, and fast.

Dippet glanced at a clock on the wall on his way out of his office. The time read 1:28 P.M. Minerva would still be in class, but which one? He knew she had Defense Against the Dark Arts in the morning – he remembered it from when he substituted for Indira one day – so that was quickly ruled out as a possibility. Transfiguration was also a definite no – Dumbledore had the third-years on Monday afternoons. Potions, perhaps? No… all Potions classes had been cancelled indefinitely. He sighed and decided it was important enough to interrupt Dumbledore.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was not in his classroom; he was in the dungeons with Nicolas Flamel, and the two had reached a critical stage in the making of the Veritaserum. There were four cauldrons, one for each of the houses, and the remaining potion from each would be used on the faculty. The liquid had to simmer for forty-eight hours, and as soon as that was complete, two tablespoons of powdered root of asphodel had to be each cauldron. Immediately. And it had been simmering for forty-seven hours and fifty-eight minutes.

"Get ready," Flamel said, taking the already-measured amounts of asphodel in each hand.

"Ready," Dumbledore said, doing the same.

The stream of sand in the hourglass on the end of the table was beginning to run thin. Both men were giving it their undivided attention.

After this, they would be able to relax for a while; the potion would have to sit, undisturbed, for seven days. However, if the timing wasn't perfect, they would have to start all over.

"Set…" said Dumbledore.

"NOW!" cried Flamel as the last grain of sand fell through.

The two men poured the vital ingredients into the cauldrons. A puff of blue smoke came out of each, quickly dissipating into the air.

Flamel let out a sigh and placed his hands on the table. "We did it."

They turned off the flames below the cauldrons, taking great care not to touch them. The slightest disturbance would damage the potion. Potions were very delicate, especially potions like Veritaserum; they had to be made exactly right, or they would be ruined.

"I'm glad that's over," Dumbledore admitted, crossing the room over to one of the desks. He sat down in the chair and began tapping his long fingers against the surface of the desk. "What time is it?"

"It is exactly one thirty in the afternoon," Flamel replied, following Dumbledore over to the desks. He studied his friend carefully for a moment, then said, "What is it?"

"What is what?" Dumbledore asked.

"Something is troubling you," Flamel said. "And don't say that it's not. I know you better than that."

Dumbledore knew it was useless to try and lie to him. Nicolas Flamel was not just brilliant; he was wise, far wiser than any other man that walked the earth. He knew exactly what to do in almost any situation because he had _been_ in almost any situation. One did not endure six centuries of life without learning something from it. Flamel knew knowledge was power, but knowledge without wisdom was nothing.

"You're right, as usual," Dumbledore admitted. "There _is_ something troubling me." Several somethings, but he refrained from mentioning that.

"Tell me." Flamel's grey eyes shone with concern.

Dumbledore stared at his hands. "I've… hurt someone I care about. I didn't mean to, but I did, and now we aren't speaking."

His vagueness didn't fool the alchemist. "In what _context_ do you 'care about' this person?"

"I… I think I may be in love with her."

That helped. In matters of the heart, Flamel was an excellent authority; he had, after all, made his own marriage last for six hundred years. "Is that so?" he said. "Well, what did you do to make her so angry?"

He motioned toward the Veritaserum. "_That_. She's against the interrogation. She wants to find out who's behind this as much as any of us, but not like this."

Flamel couldn't say that he didn't blame her; this method _was_ rather extreme, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and times didn't get much more desperate than these. "It sounds like the problem is more hers than yours," he said. "Perhaps if I spoke to her-"

"No," Dumbledore said quickly, fearful of what might happen if Flamel knew he was having an affair with a student. "No. This… this is between us, and I would like to keep it that way."

Flamel didn't like the excuse, but he was certain Dumbledore had a reason for it. "Very well," he said. "In that case, let me give you some words to reflect upon. Love – if that's what this is – doesn't just _happen_. You must work for it. You have to want it enough to make sacrifices, get uncomfortable, _believe_ this person is important enough to you to endure the hard times. Do you understand what I mean?"

Dumbledore looked at Flamel, but didn't reply right away. When he did speak, he turned his head to the left, toward the entrance to the room, and said, "How long have you been standing there, Armando?"

"Since 'this is between us,'" Dippet answered, pushing the wheels of his wheelchair and guiding it across the room in order to join the two men at the desk. "Your classroom was empty. You _know_ classes require my approval in order to be cancelled."

"I've never had a class on Monday at this hour," Dumbledore replied. "I have the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff third-years from noon until one, and then the Slytherins and Ravenclaws from two until three. You know this."

Dippet felt rather stupid as it came back to him. "Yes, of course," he said, touching his hand to his forehead. The wound he sustained in the battle with Grindelwald had not yet healed, and had a tendency to throb from time to time.

"This is a difficult time for you," Flamel said. It was more of an observation than a comment. "You cannot be expected to function as you normally would."

"And why not?" Dippet asked. "How can I expect anyone to recover from this if I do not first?" He sighed. "Indira thinks I tried to kill her."

"No she does-" Dumbledore began.

"Yes," Dippet interrupted, "she _does_, and I have no way to prove that I didn't."

Dumbledore motioned toward the cauldrons and said, "_We_ do." Then he placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and said, "We will get through this."

"What, you too?" Flamel asked.

Dippet looked at the alchemist. "What?"

"Marital problems?" Flamel guessed.

For a moment, Dippet had a fleeting image of himself and Indira walking down a moonlit path together fifty years in the future. "I'm not married," the headmaster said firmly, "nor do I ever _plan_ to be."

Flamel said nothing, but smiled knowingly.

Dippet could feel Flamel's words tugging at his mind, and decided to change the subject. "Albus, the reason I sought you out was to ask you a question," he said. "I've got to speak with Minerva McGonagall. Do you know what class she has at this time?"

"Alain's," Dumbledore replied quickly and coolly. "Why?"

"I have an idea."

* * *

"Paul. Paul!"

Paul Garrett lifted his head off the dusty old book lying open on the table in front of him in the library and looked at Tom Riddle. "Sorry," he muttered, wiping at his eyes. Tom previously had Potions at this hour, so he was off the hook, but Paul didn't know how much longer he could skip Professor Binns's class without being noticed. Not that he was taking much of a chance, of course…

Tom didn't even seem to notice that Paul had dozed off. "I have an idea."


	23. In which the case is closed

**A/N:** Guess what? I think I'm doing this college thing right after all – last week, I scored 100 on a calculus test. So in honor of that, I give you Chapter 23! I'm pretty proud of this one – it's about 3,200 words (700 more than my average) and I felt that it had some pretty powerful images. Hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it. :o)

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three: In which the case is closed

- A few moments later -

* * *

All of a sudden, his problems with Minerva seemed trivial. "Stone?" Dumbledore repeated, hoping it wasn't true. He liked Neil Stone. Neil was a model student, a good person, and Dumbledore's choice for Head Boy. He was a Slytherin, but Dumbledore was wise enough to know that didn't matter – his deceased brother-in-law, Artemus Black, had been a Slytherin, and there were few people Dumbledore held in higher regard than Artemus. Neil showed promise, and now he was dead. It couldn't be possible – could it?

Cutler nodded. "I'm afraid so."

"When did this happen?"

"Barty Crouch found him dead in the Slytherin tower not ten minutes ago, and rushed to tell Indira," Cutler answered. "I suspect two thirds of the school knows about it, and it won't be much longer before they all find out."

"Where is he now?"

"In the hospital wing. Come; I'll tell you more on the way."

The two men left the doorway and began walking toward the hospital wing. Cutler told Dumbledore what little they knew as they went. The cause of death was apparent suicide by poisoning. A vial of the suspected poison was found clenched in Neil's fist, and even as they spoke, Flamel was comparing traces of the contents of the vial to the dead boy's blood to see if there was a match. He had not been dead long when Barty Crouch found him, perhaps half an hour.

Dumbledore was deeply disturbed by this news. Why would Neil Stone kill himself? He showed no signs of someone about to commit such an act. Something about this didn't seem right, and he suspected there was more to Cutler's story: a key bit of information it was possible that Cutler wouldn't even realize. Nothing could be taken at face value during times like these.

Most of the faculty was assembled in the hospital wing by the time Dumbledore and Cutler arrived. The two newcomers made their way over to the bed on which Neil Stone had been laid, around which were also gathered Armando Dippet, Indira Nay, Alain Haas, and Laura Tyburski. Nicolas Flamel was nearby, at a table that looked as though it was a portable Potions classroom. Haas had a piece of parchment in his hands. Their faces were solemn, but Haas's trembling hands gave away their emotions.

Seeing Neil dead for himself finalized it for Dumbledore, and he felt defeated. "Well?" he asked quietly. "Do we know what caused it?"

"I'm not quite finished with this analysis," Flamel spoke up, "but I can tell you that there are high amounts of wormwood and essence of belladonna in both the potion from the vial and in his blood."

"Those ingredients are never used together," Madam Tyburski said. "The combination is deadly."

"So this was clearly a potion that most have not encountered," Indira deduced.

She looked at Flamel, expecting the world's greatest potions master to have an answer for this mystery. He did not. "I'm sorry, Professor Nay," he said. "The only explanation I can offer is that he created an entirely new formula."

"But why?" Dumbledore asked. "And why test it on himself?"

"Because it was the only way," Haas whispered.

That was all it took for the head of Hufflepuff to receive the undivided attention of everyone in the room.

"It all makes sense now," Haas continued, a bit louder. "It was meant to be an antidote to Veritaserum."

"Of course!" said Flamel. "He must have put in a bezoar to protect against the aconite, because wormwood counters lionfish, and wormwood and asphodel, which counteracts the aconite in the original potion, have an adverse reaction. Essence of belladonna would counter the effects of the Jobberknoll feathers. He must not have realized the combination of wormwood and belladonna would be fatal."

"But why would he want to create an antidote in the first place?" asked Dippet.

"To prevent us from finding out the truth during the interrogation," said Haas, and handed Dippet the parchment he was holding. "You asked me to fetch his profile when we found out he died. Here it is. Take a look at his mother."

Dippet took the paper and read where Haas told him to. "Mother Rebecca Stone, maiden name…" His throat went dry before he could utter the next word.

"Rainier," Haas finished for Dippet. "As in Erich Rainier."

"He was Grindelwald's nephew," Dumbledore realized. "Of all the…"

There was no need for him to finish the thought.

"So that's it, then?" Madam Tyburski said. "All of this… it was Stone's doing?"

"It would appear that way," Dippet said slowly, each word sticking to his throat. "He's talented enough to be proficient at Legillimancy if he tried, and he _is_ Erich Rainier's nephew…" He stole a glance at Indira. She looked as nauseated as he felt, and he didn't blame her. All this time, the culprit was one of her star students, committing these crimes under her very nose.

Dumbledore still wasn't sure about this. It made sense, _perfect_ sense, and that was why he doubted it. It was just too convenient, but he didn't make his opinion known. In all likelihood, Neil Stone _was_ the traitor, and he was just an old skeptic who refused to believe a young man he respected was capable of such a heinous act.

"Well?" said Haas.

Dippet looked at Dumbledore. "Albus, make the announcement," he said. "I will write to the Ministry of Magic and disclose everything we know."

"How much is everything?" Indira asked quietly.

"Everything," Dippet replied. "People are dying because of our secrets. We are obligated to try to prevent that."

"I understand," Indira said, avoiding eye contact with anyone. She didn't want the truth to come out, but since her life was no longer in danger, the world had the right to know why Arielle Turner, Christina Bacall, and Neil Stone had died. It was time. And maybe, just maybe, it was time for Madeline Rahmini to disappear again…

"I'm going to request that all students come to the Great Hall at once," said Dumbledore. "They deserve to know the truth." And maybe, just maybe, Minerva would find it in her heart to forgive him…

He and Dippet made eye contact, then Dippet nodded and said, "Do it."

Dumbledore was already on his way out.

* * *

"What do you suppose this is about?" Arabella Figg asked Minerva McGonagall as they walked toward the Great Hall along with every other student at Hogwarts. "It's too soon for the Veritaserum to be ready, isn't it?"

Minerva ignored Arabella's first question and acknowledged the second with a nod of her head. Her mind wasn't on whatever announcement Dumbledore had to make. Gryfffindor had been in the middle of Quidditch practice when Arabella and a few others came out to the pitch saying that everyone needed to go to the Great Hall immediately, preparing for the final Quidditch match of the year: Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. Gryffindor had a significant lead in the Quidditch Cup, but Hufflepuff was in a strong second after crushing Slytherin, and they had the best Seeker in recent memory. If something like what happened last time happened again, Minerva knew she would never be able to outmaneuver Shirley Jones like she had Ronny Buchanen in the game against Ravenclaw. Pooky was a good Seeker – he was more than good – but he was no match for Jones. In all honesty, Minerva wasn't expecting a Gryffindor victory, but she felt they could score enough points to win the Cup before Jones got the Snitch. She would have to sit down and figure out the numbers before deciding if it was possible, but she had faith in her team. If anyone could do it –

"Minerva!"

A boy's voice brought Minerva out of her thoughts. She knew the voice, but couldn't place it until he came into view. It was Bartemius Crouch. "Crouch?"

Barty's robes, face, and hair were impeccable as usual, but the way he carried himself gave away his anxiety: eyes darting back and forth, breathing faster than normal, tense shoulders, and a strain to his step. "Have you seen Riddle?" he asked, falling into stride next to Minerva, sandwiching her between himself and Arabella.

"I've been out on the pitch since classes got over," Minerva replied. It felt a little awkward talking with Barty; the two of them didn't know each other very well, and she was the reason he became a prefect in the first place. "Do you know what's going on?"

Barty stopped walking, his mouth agape. "You haven't _heard_ yet?"

"I told you, I've been on the pitch since-"

"And I haven't heard either," Arabella interrupted.

Barty touched one hand to his forehead and held the other up in the air, signaling for silence. "Never mind; it happened over in Slytherin and Nay told me not to tell anyone until they figured it out. I just thought they would have told you since you're Head Girl and all. But I really need to find Riddle, so…"

He quickened his pace, but Minerva wasn't going to let him go without some answers. "Crouch!" she said loudly, and he stopped long enough for her and Arabella to catch up with him. "What. Happened?"

For a moment, it looked as though Barty wasn't going to respond, but upon realizing that they would hear in a few minutes anyway, he gave her an answer. "Neil Stone's dead."

Minerva stopped walking and clutched at her stomach, which felt as though it had just been kicked. "N-Neil?" she stammered. "_How_?"

"I went to look for him when he didn't show up to the prefect's meeting and found him in his dormitory," Barty said. "When I realized he was dead, I went straight to Nay. It _looks_ like a suicide, but for the life of me I can't figure out why he would…"

"This doesn't make any sense at all!" Minerva exclaimed. "Neil's… Neil's _perfect_! Why would he kill himself?"

"Does Gabriella know?" Arabella asked quietly. Gabriella Scott, a seventh-year Ravenclaw prefect, was Neil Stone's girlfriend of four years, and the two had recently become engaged. Arabella and Minerva knew Gabriella personally – they had two classes with Ravenclaw – and though they never got around to becoming close to her, the feelings they had toward her had always been positive.

"I don't think so," Barty returned. A touch of defeat was evident in his voice. He was quite relieved that he wasn't the one who would have to break the news to Gabriella, but that did not make lessen his sympathy for the popular Ravenclaw. Not long after the announcement had been made for everyone to come to the Great Hall, Barty spent a few moments wondering how it would feel to be in Gabriella's place… wondering what it would be like to have someone _he_ loved commit suicide… it was too horrible to bear, and he hoped he never had to experience it.

"Poor thing," said Arabella.

Minerva nodded her agreement, and then something occurred to her. "Wait a moment," she said. "I know this is a terrible tragedy, but why are we having a _special_ meeting about it now? Dinner's in about an hour – why didn't they wait until then?"

Neither Barty nor Arabella could think of an answer. Minerva didn't press them for one, either. They would all be finding out soon enough.

The two girls said good-bye to Barty when the trio entered the Great Hall and split to join their houses, then joined their fellow Gryffindors, all of whom were looking more than a little confused. Minerva found herself being bombarded with questions, and she claimed she didn't know anything, which wasn't _entirely_ a lie. It was possible this assembly wasn't even related to Neil Stone, though she doubted it. But if it wasn't about Neil, what could it be?

Minerva looked up at the High Table, and who was up there surprised her almost as much as who wasn't. Dumbledore was there, and so was Nicolas Flamel, but absent were the headmaster and the head of the dead student's house. Halo Pokeli was in attendance, but Alain Haas was not, making only two house heads accounted for. Rounding out the present staff was Madam Tyburski. _The nurse?_Minerva thought. This was making less sense every minute.

Minerva was watching Dumbledore in particular, and she felt a pang of longing strike her chest. He didn't look like his usual collected self; there was a tired, defeated feeling to his face and body that was not unlike the expressions she had just seen in Barty Crouch. Every few moments he would lean in and say something to Flamel, or vice versa. He caught her looking at him once, and looked away even quicker than she did. It was one of the few times she had seen him truly distressed, and she felt guilty for adding to his tribulations. Even so, her pride would not let her back down from what she said before. If she ever hoped to obtain the respect she sought from him, she would have to make sure he treated her like an equal.

After a few more minutes, Dumbledore, apparently having decided that the Great Hall was as full as it was going to get, stepped forward and raised his arms. Silence immediately descended upon the room, and all eyes went to the deputy headmaster. He did not begin speaking right away, but let the silence stay for a moment. Then, choosing his words carefully, he began telling Hogwarts the last thing it wanted to hear.

"There is no way I can 'sugar-coat' what I have to tell you today, so I will just say it and trust that you can come to grips with this truly horrific news," Dumbledore began, and Minerva thought, _About time_. "As you all know, ten days ago, our school, previously thought virtually impenetrable, was infiltrated by the dark wizard Erich Rainier, better known as Grindelwald. Though Grindelwald did not succeed in his task, he did kill two staff members in the process. And when I say that he did not succeed in his task, I mean that he was here for a reason."

Minerva gasped. _He's going to tell us about Nay. _No wonder she wasn't here.

"I know you are not all familiar with the Fidelius Charm, so I shall summarize it for those of who do not know what it is," Dumbledore continued. "It is a very powerful, complicated spell that conceals an individual from the eyes of another, and the only way a seeker can find the one he is looking for is if he is told the person's location by their Secret-keeper. There is someone at Hogwarts who, until ten days ago, was being hidden from Grindelwald by a Fidelius Charm for over twenty years: the last remnant of the family of the man who exposed Erich Rainier before he was ready, thereby thwarting any chance the dark wizard had of becoming all-powerful. That person is Madeline Rahmini, better known to you as your Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, Indira Nay."

That garnered a reaction, as he suspected it would, but the murmuring died down a few moments after he again signaled for silence. "Professor Nay's Secret-keeper did not hand her over to Grindelwald, nor did Grindelwald act alone in this," Dumbledore said. "An insider – yes, someone at Hogwarts – discovered Professor Nay's true identity, performed the Imperius Curse on her Secret-keeper, and forced him to change the identiy of the Secret-keeper, presumably to himself. He then met with Grindelwald and told him his target's location. As I said before, Grindelwald was unable to kill Professor Nay, but others fell by his hand when he was seeking her." It then occurred to him that Grindelwald probably didn't want to kill Indira at all, and he gave a shudder.

"Grindelwald was stopped, but there was still the matter of the traitor within Hogwarts, so Lord Flamel and I began making Veritaserum, intending to use it on everyone at Hogwarts to find the insider," said Dumbledore, indicating the alchemist on his right with a nod of his head. "Knowing that he would soon be exposed, the traitor was driven to an act of desperation. He attempted to create an antidote to Veritaserum by making a potion that consisted of neutralizers of the truth serum's active ingredients, but he failed to realize that two of the ingredients necessary to counter their respective opposites in Veritaserum were fatal in the amounts he would have needed. He tested the potion on himself and was found dead in the Slytherin dormitories an hour ago."

Minerva covered her mouth to keep from screaming. Now it made sense – cold, horrific, clear, perfect sense. That was why Neil killed himself. That was why they were here, listening to Dumbledore's voice. Neil betrayed them. Neil put the memory charm on her. Neil was in league with Grindelwald. It was Neil.

Dumbledore's voice was thicker than ever as he continued. "The young man I speak of we now know to be Grindelwald's nephew," he said. "Hogwarts, there was an enemy in your midst, and your enemy was Neil Stone."

The entire room erupted into noise, and Dumbledore made no attempt to silence them. Minerva stole a glance over at the Ravenclaw table. Gabriella Scott was sobbing on Kelsie Appanitis's shoulder, and she wasn't the only incoherent person in the room. Even the level-headed Slytherins were upset – though considering Neil was one of theirs, Minerva wasn't too surprised by this. She began to feel her own grief sink in. It hadn't felt as real when Barty Crouch told her, but Dumbledore's speech finalized the reality of the situation. Everything that had happened was because of Neil Stone; handsome, popular, charismatic, intelligent Neil Stone. She wondered what Arithmancy would be like with only three students. She wondered what Defense Against the Dark Arts would be like with Indira's secret out. She wondered what Hogwarts would be like never again knowing who to trust.

Minerva stood up. She didn't want to be in here anymore. She had to get away from the anger, the sorrow, the people, the lies. She had to find out what was still real in this nightmare.

"Where are you going?" Arabella asked.

"I don't know," Minerva replied. "Somewhere. _Anywhere_ but here." Actually, she knew exactly where she was going to go and what she was going to do, but she wasn't going to tell Arabella. She wasn't going to tell anyone.

* * *

When Dumbledore returned to his chambers that night, he spotted a piece of parchment sitting on an end table that wasn't there before. It was folded into thirds and had nothing written on the outside.

He unfolded the paper. Whoever gave it to him had not signed their name, but even before he read the message he knew exactly who it was. He read it twice, then folded it back into thirds and tucked it into his pocket, unable to decide if this made things better or worse.

_Well, it looks like your plan worked after all. Congratulations._

__

* * *

**A/N: **Ten points to everyone who caught the foreshadowing. I wasn't even planning to write that in; I just saw the chance and couldn't let it pass. :o)


	24. In which there is some bad press

**A/N**: Holy shamoley, did I really not update this story since this time last semester? Shame on me... but hey, I got an A in calculus.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four: In which there is some bad press

- April 2, 1945 -

* * *

After the shock of Neil Stone's apparent betrayal and suicide settled into numb acceptance, Hogwarts almost returned to normal. The absence of the two instructors, especially in Potions, was felt hard by all, and neither Potions nor Astronomy was expected to be taught that term. It was suggested that Astronomy could be taught by the headmaster, but given Armando Dippet's current state, it was unlikely that he would even be able to perform all of administrative duties.

Though no one spoke of the incident that took place on the night of March 17, it haunted the minds of all, and it showed in those most deeply involved. Albus Dumbledore walked with his shoulders slumped, and his eyes had stopped twinkling. Indira Nay was unsure of herself and having a difficult time staying focused in front of a class, as though she was afraid any one of them might lash out at her next. Armando Dippet became a recluse, drowning his pain and fear in work. Minerva McGonagall did not eat, sleep, or speak unless it was absolutely necessary, and the more her friends tried to pull her out of her depression, the deeper she sank. By contrast, Tom Riddle and Paul Garrett had never been happier. Though their plan had failed in its ultimate goal, they had succeeded in two others: instilling fear in the hearts of their enemies and completely covering their tracks. The guilty were innocent, and the innocent were guilty. It was a vicious circle of irony that threatened to devour anyone who had never done anything to them. All they had to do was put it into play.

The morning of Dippet's departure for the hospital in Spain dawned clear and cold, and with it came a ray of hope for Hogwarts' overwrought headmaster. Today, he was not only beginning the uphill battle to win back the use of his legs; he was also going home. His mother had been Spanish, and when his British father died when Armando was twelve, she and her son moved to Tarragona. Tarragona was not far from Barcelona, and though Dippet was tempted to visit his old home while he was in the area, he knew it would not be a good idea. Though the wizards' war against Grindelwald had finally ended thanks to Albus Dumbledore, the Muggle war was still raging. Unnecessary travel was a risk he could not afford to take. Tarragona could wait until another day.

Dippet needed to speak to Dumbledore before leaving. It was possible he could be gone for several days; not because this physical therapy session would take that long, but because international travel in wartime was so dangerous. Obtaining permission to travel between Scotland and Spain at all would have been impossible if not for his high standing within wizarding society and his dual nationality. Dippet felt comfortable leaving Hogwarts in Dumbledore's hands, but he wanted to see his deputy anyway. There were matters between them that needed to be discussed.

Dumbledore had promised to be in Dippet's office at 7:30 A.M. when the two of them spoke the night before and Dippet asked to see him. The hands on the clock indicated that it was 7:27. Dippet's mind wandered as he stared at the ornate golden spires pointing to the numbers on the clock's face. It was not until recently, just within this past school year, that Dippet and Dumbledore had grown close enough to become friends. They had known each other since their school days – Dumbledore was five years older – and though they never felt anything but positive feelings toward each other, they had never been close. With all the recent tragedy, though, it did not look as though they would have the chance to get closer anytime soon. Their friendship would just have to wait until this had passed.

"Armando?"

Dippet would have jumped if he could when Dumbledore's voice came from behind him at 7:29. "Albus!" he returned, rotating his wheelchair around. "Thank you for coming. I may not be able to return for several days, so-"

"Wait a moment," said Dumbledore. "I thought you received permission from Spain's Ministry of Magic-"

"I did," Dippet said, "but the Muggle world is at war, and Spain's Ministry is more deeply involved in it than they are letting on. There is simply far too much politics involved for this to be an easy undertaking."

Dumbledore nodded. Politics were a complicated matter, and he preferred to stay out of them. "I wish you well," he said. Then, upon closer examination of the expression in the headmaster's dark eyes, he added, "This is not the only reason you wished to see me."

Dippet sighed. "I am… afraid," he admitted. "Hogwarts is fragile right now. I fear it may still be too soon."

Dumbledore could understand why Dippet felt this way. Hogwarts was in shock, understaffed, and vulnerable. Dippet was assuming full responsibility for the attack, and though Grindelwald's infiltration wasn't entirely his fault, he did deserve _some_ of the blame; he was, after all, Indira's Secret-keeper, and he employed her being fully aware that the evil wizard was hunting her. Choices had been made, but it was too late to go back on them now. They would simply have to press on and do everything in their power to make sure it turned out for the best.

Dumbledore decided that now was a good a time as any to give Dippet what could be considered good news. "I've spoken to Nicolas Flamel about Potions," the head of Gryffindor said. "If you will accept his help, he has agreed to teach the class until a permanent replacement can be found."

Nicolas Flamel on staff? Flamel had been headmaster for a quarter century during the Renaissance. It would certainly be interesting to have him back on staff as a teacher in modern times, and there was no questioning his competence in the subject. "I gladly accept and thank him for this gesture," said Dippet. "Please tell him that when I return from Spain I will approach him personally."

"I will send an owl to him immediately," said Dumbledore. Flamel had left Hogwarts the day after Neil Stone's death, as his services were no longer needed.

"Thank you, Albus," said Dippet. "I do wish you would reconsider your assertion that you will never be a Hogwarts headmaster; you would do so well."

"I am quite comfortable with who and where I am right now, but thank you," said Dumbledore. "An act such as the one you are performing now will be hard to follow. These last few years have been among the most difficult Hogwarts has seen in its history, and they would have been far worse without your guidance. I'm certain you will lead us out of these dark times."

Dippet sighed and let his eyes fall to the floor. "Only time will tell, Albus."

A moment passed, then Dippet looked up again. "This chair will be turning into a Portkey any moment now. I shall see you upon my return."

"Godspeed, Armando."

Dumbledore turned toward the door and began to walk. He paused at the doorway and glanced over his shoulder. Dippet was gone.

* * *

Halfway down the staircase, Dumbledore took a turn too quickly and collided with Kiura Kadish. The two of them tumbled down several steps before coming to a stop. Dumbledore apologized as he helped Dr. Kadish to her feet, but Kiura was far more concerned with other matters. "Albus," she said, "is Armando still here?"

"No; he's just left," Dumbledore replied. "Is something wrong?"

She nodded. "We are in trouble." She reached into her robes and pulled out a rolled up copy of what Dumbledore guessed to be the _Daily Prophet_. His assumption proved correct when she slapped it into his palm. "_Big_ trouble."

* * *

"'Hogwarts School of Fugitives and Murderers. Once respected institute of learning now veritable safari for hunters and the hunted.'"

Minerva McGonagall was livid. She slammed her copy of the _Daily Prophet_ down on the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall so hard that several people around her jumped, including Arabella Figg, who had also been taking a drink of apple juice at the time. Arabella coughed, sputtered, and sprayed her fellows with juice while Minerva continued her tirade. "How _dare_ they bring this up again? Haven't they put us through _enough_?"

Arabella muttered a generic apology to the people in her immediate vicinity and cleaned up the juice with a wave of her wand. "What are they saying, Minerva?"

Minerva picked up the paper again, and her eyes burned as they skimmed over the article dominating the front page. "It's horrible," she said. "It's an outright attack on the administration, the board of governors, even the students. Listen to this – 'Not even the students are safe from each other. Need we relive the horror of the death of young Myrtle Morrison, murdered by a monster being illegally kept by one of her peers two years ago?'"

Everyone within a three-person radius of Minerva was listening now.

"And of _course_, they printed this the _day_ Professor Dippet went to that hospital in Spain," Minerva continued. "What will tomorrow's headline say? 'Hogwarts Headmaster Leaves Country.' I _highly_ doubt it'll include the fact that it's for strictly medical purposes!"

"Well… I don't think many people would _blame_ Dippet for wanting to leave the country after this," commented fifth-year prefect Roger Patton, who was reading ahead in his own copy of the _Prophet_. "The whole middle section of the article is about how he hides things at Hogwarts and covered up for Professor Nay."

Seventh-year Miranda Lang, who was sitting to Roger's left and had been reading over his shoulder, added quietly, "Still doesn't compare to what they wrote about Nay."

Minerva didn't see their volatile Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's name until close to the bottom of the page. The article did not stop, but continued on the next page. Minerva opened the paper, and her eyes widened as she read. "They… they don't believe her."

"Don't believe what?" asked Arabella.

"That she's Madeline Rahmini!" Minerva exclaimed. This piece of information had been conveniently left out of all reports on the Grindelwald incident – or conveniently left out of publication until the opportune moment – and though Minerva was aware that a handful of Hogwarts students didn't fully believe it themselves, she knew the truth. "How could they be so ignorant? I was _there_! Grindelwald _himself_ told me the truth!"

Heavy as that news was, it preceded their time, and most Hogwarts students cared more about Neil Stone's suicide than the true identity of Indira Nay. Furthermore, the _Daily Prophet_ only resurrected old news when it was relevant to current issues, and the fact that Madeline Rahmini had not been killed after all was interesting, but not terribly important… until it was revealed she was the reason for the attack on Hogwarts. And then they didn't believe it.

Minerva's eyes singled out a particular passage and narrowed into slits of blue fire. "The delusional, unpopular professor has taken the façade too far. As crazy as the man who tried to kill her, Nay has managed to convince Armando Dippet that he was the only one who could protect her from Grindelwald. Maybe Dippet's blundering isn't entirely his fault, but due in part to the influence of Nay's presence."

"They're going to sack Nay," Martin Blumethal interjected. "It's the only way to start to recover from all this bad press."

"They won't sack Nay," Minerva said decisively. "Everyone knows she's a good teacher, and besides, we're already understaffed."

She stole a glance up at the head table. Dippet's absence was painfully obvious, and the seat of another delicate subject was empty – Indira Nay's. It wasn't uncommon for her to miss meals lately, but in the past few days it had gotten to the point where no one saw her outside of class. Dumbledore had an urgent look on his face as he made conversation with Halo Pokeli, and Minerva found that she could not tear her eyes away from him. It was, perhaps, the first time since their argument that she felt she could imagine the depth of the pressure he was under. Albus Dumbledore truly cared about Hogwarts, more than anyone knew. Even from here, she could see the tortured look in his eyes. He couldn't protect everyone, and just as impossible as trying to do that was deciding _who_ to protect.

As if he could sense that he was on her mind, Dumbledore ended his conversation with Pokeli and looked directly at her. Minerva wanted to look away, but their gazes were locked. His face held the same longing, troubled, torn between the right thing and the best thing expression she knew hers did as well. She wanted so desperately to go back to the way they were before Grindelwald. Was it possible?

"Minerva?"

Arabella's voice made Minerva look away from Dumbledore, though she could feel his gaze lingering on her a bit longer. "Hmm?"

"Are you okay? You look… really upset."

_Damn_, Minerva thought. She was losing it. She knew she was. She had to get out of here before the last of her control left.

She stood up. "I have to get another vial of ink. I'll see you in class."

If she had taken a moment to glance over her shoulder as she rushed out of the Great Hall, she would have noticed that Dumbledore got up as well.

* * *

When Armando Dippet's world stopped spinning, he found himself in the shadows between two tall buildings. There was a stone wall behind him, and some distance away, perhaps a hundred feet, he could see the street. It was partially obscured by overturned trash cans and old boxes regurgitating their contents into the dirty alley. The air was thick and rancid, and he could already feel the insects biting his face and neck.

_Welcome to Barcelona_, he thought as he slapped his cheek to kill something tiny and annoying.

"Professor Dippet?" came a voice from the shadows.

A figure matching the voice stepped into the light. It was a woman, of perhaps fifty years. She was of average height and build, medium skinned, with black hair in an elegant knot at the base of her neck and a kind, rather lovely face. "My name is Raquel Ramirez." Her English was perfect, and though she had a strong accent, he had no trouble distinguishing it, having been raised by a Spanish mother. "I will take you to the Hospital de San Cliodne."

"Is it far?" Dippet asked as Raquel stepped behind his wheelchair.

"No, it is not far at all."

She then began pushing the chair right at the building in front of them. This startled Dippet at first, and then it occurred to him that this was probably a magical barrier similar to the one at Platform Nine and Three quarters. This assumption proved to be correct when they passed through the wall as though it were not there at all. The dark, dirty alley seemed a thousand miles away inside the clean, well-lit interior of the building. Men and women were moving back and forth, tending to their business, many of them holding clipboards and quills. It was not noisy, but there was constant chatter in the air, most of it Spanish.

Raquel excused herself for a moment and walked up to the front desk. She spent a few moments talking to the witch behind the counter, then returned holding a clipboard and quill. "We'll begin physical therapy immediately, but first I'll need to know more about the nature of your condition," she said. She got behind his wheelchair and began pushing again. "How was the injury sustained?"

"I was shielding a colleague from an attack by Grindelwald," Dippet answered. "His spell hit the wall behind us and caused it to explode."

Raquel nodded and flipped through a few of the pieces of paper on her clipboard. "Oh. _That's_ why you're not dead."

"What?" Dippet asked, looking over his shoulder. It seemed like an odd thing for Raquel to say to her patient.

"Your school nurse, Anna Tyburski," she clarified. "You are very lucky to have her."

"Yes, we are," he agreed. Madam Tyburski was one of the most famous mediwitches in Europe. They were constantly fighting St. Mungo's and other wizarding hospitals who wanted her to keep her at Hogwarts.

"Well, Professor Dippet," Raquel chirped, "I am not going to lie to you. Your treatment will be both difficult and painful, and we cannot guarantee success. _However_, if you stay with it and give it all you have, there is a good chance you will walk again."

"I will," Dippet said boldly.

A small smile flickered across Raquel's lips. "You say that _now_."

* * *

Minerva hadn't gotten far from the Great Hall when someone grabbed her from behind, covered her mouth, and dragged her into a closet.

"We have to talk," Albus Dumbledore whispered, letting go of her. The closet was so cramped that it didn't make much difference.

Minerva was so surprised at being pulled into a closet by Dumbledore, of all people, that she was unable to be angry. "Why are we in a closet?"

"This isn't a closet," he replied. "It's the Room of Requirement. I thought a closet wouldn't attract as much attention."

"Could you require that it be a bit larger?"

"Could you keep your voice down, please?"

Now that she was face-to-face with Dumbledore after having not spoken to him for so long, Minerva almost didn't know what to do. In the time they had been angry with each other, had he come to his senses and realized that he was too great a wizard to waste his time on a schoolgirl with a crush?

Dumbledore took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I know you've seen the article," he said. "I don't know how much of it you read. You were mentioned – not by name, but it could not have been anyone else. My point, Minerva, is that you _know_ the truth."

"Do I?" she asked bitterly. "I thought the memory charm took care of that."

"Maybe not _all_ the truth, but most of it," he replied. "About Grindelwald, Professor Nay, Neil Stone-"

"Wait," Minerva interrupted. "The truth about _Neil_?"

"I know you know he's innocent," Dumbledore said. "I've known since you left that anonymous note in Professor Cutler's handwriting on my bed last week, but only recently did I believe it myself. I believe the real culprit is whoever leaked this information to the _Daily Prophet_."

"So what do you want me to do? Damage control?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," he answered. "I'll handle the _Prophet_ – I'll have to move quickly if I expect to keep Professor Dippet's reputation from being damaged any further – but I would like you to assure the students that everything will be all right. They look up to you and will trust you."

"Maybe I should get Tom Riddle to help. He's-"

"Minerva." Even in the darkness, she could see the urgency in Dumbledore's eyes. "_I don't trust Tom Riddle_."

He placed a hand on her shoulder and gazed at her intently. "I need you on my side," he whispered. "You have always been so much more than a student to me…" He looked away, and she could barely hear him finish the thought. "Even before I fell in love with you."

"You love me?" the confused Minerva asked. She was certain about her feelings for him, and she'd always hoped he felt the same, but they had not yet said the words.

He looked at her again. "Yes. I love you."

Minerva could feel tears swelling up in her eyes, and to prevent him from seeing them, she threw herself into his arms and kissed him with all her might. The intensity of two weeks' worth of pent-up passion released in a single act left them both breathless.

"We're going to be missed if we stay in here much longer," Minerva pointed out when the kiss ended.

Dumbledore knew she was right, as usual. "Very well. Please… will I see you tonight?"

The corners of her mouth slowly turned up into a smile. "You will."

He smiled, too, and they embraced each other again. In a time of so much chaos and hardship, it gave them both comfort and hope to have at least _one_ thing go right.


	25. In which Armando comes back

**A/N: **Well, I guess I'm doing good at this update-once-a-semester thing. Hopefully more chapters will be able to come out later this summer, because a) it's summer and b) we're closing in on the part of the story that I've been looking the most forward to writing (which, incidently, also happens to be summer).

I hereby dedicate this chapter to Ceeti, who not only signed onto AIM twice in one month, but also updated The Rising of a Lion. Go her.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Five: In which Armando comes back

April 5, 1945 -

* * *

Raquel had not been joking. After just a few hours of grueling physical therapy, Armando Dippet could not decide what was more painful: losing the ability to walk or getting it back. At the end of one particularly intense session, he floated in a pool of water, clinging to a rail on the side for dear life and gasping for breath. Charms had been placed on the pool to prevent drowning, but he knew there were several other ways to die in his current state that did not involve water. Raquel was standing a few feet away, taking some notes on her clipboard. 

"Very good today, Armando," she said in Spanish, the language with which she was more comfortable, and dipped her quill in a vial of ink attached to the clipboard. "You've made excellent progress. I will submit my report to a senior Healer and he will decide when you should return. Any questions?"

"Si," Dippet said after catching his breath. Continuing in Spanish, he said, "Will I ever play the violin again?"

Raquel let out a soft, carefree laugh, then returned to her writing.

"I _meant_ that," her patient said.

She smiled at him reassuringly. "Someone will be along shortly to help you out," she informed him, then exited the area.

A tall, burly wizard named Hector came by in about five minutes to help Dippet. An hour later, Hogwarts's headmaster was dried off and receiving last-minute instructions from Raquel in the lobby before returning to his school by Portkey.

"You are to return in ten day's time, on the evening of the fifteenth of April," Raquel was saying. "You will be departing two days later, on the evening of the seventeenth of April. I will be your caretaker then as well. By then you will have progressed to the point where you will not to stay at San Cliodne if you do not wish to. Would you like us to arrange for lodging here in Barcelona?"

"No, thank you," Dippet answered. "I grew up in Tarragona, and have inherited my mother's house there. I would like to stay there if it possible to arrange for transportation."

"Is the house connected to the Floo network?"

"No; it has been uninhabited for years."

"If you provide me with the necessary information, I can see that it is connected for the duration of your stay."

He thanked her and promised to send her the information when he got to Hogwarts.

Hector came by and handed Raquel a cane. She thanked him, then gave her attention to Dippet as Hector walked away. "You are to spend a minimum of half an hour per day on your feet," she instructed, and held out the cane. "It does not have to be all at once. Walk if you can."

The previous day, Dippet had taken three shaky, excruciating steps while relying extensively on a cane. The experience, though painful, had also been very uplifting. He took the cane from his designated caretaker. "Is there anything else?"

"There is _always_ something else." Raquel's tone was stern, but her face betrayed the smile she was trying to hide. "Don't think you can get away with doing less than the required amount of work. That cane is jinxed to prod you in the back nonstop if it thinks you aren't going to meet your quota."

A jinxed cane. Terrific. "I'll… keep that in mind." Then, almost teasingly, he added, "Is there anything _else_?"

She stopped trying to hide her smile. "Yes, but that is enough for now. See you in ten days."

The last thought to go through Dippet's mind as he sat down in his wheelchair and before the world around him vanished was how Hogwarts fared during his absence.

* * *

"Well, Gryffindor's stopped talking about it, at least from what I can see," Minerva McGonagall reported as she entered Albus Dumbledore's office after classes that day. "Any response from the _Prophet_?"

"None," Dumbledore answered. Frustration lingered in his voice. "I doubt they would have believed _me_ if they weren't able to confirm the wand I brought back had indeed belonged to Erich Rainier." He sighed and rubbed his brow. "We have to keep trying, though. We must convince people of the truth while the lies are still fresh in their minds."

Minerva nodded in agreement, sighed, and stared at the ceiling. More than anything she wanted to find out who was behind all this. She felt honor-bound to track down Grindelwald's insider and expose whoever it may be, especially because she already knew – it was just being kept a secret inside her own mind. Why couldn't she remember that? She must have looked at every student, faculty, or staff member at least twice since that night – why hadn't any of them triggered a reaction like seeing the picture of Dumbledore's sister had?

Another thought occurred to her, and she dropped her gaze to meet Dumbledore's. "When is Professor Dippet returning?"

Dumbledore gave a jolt and whipped his head around to look at the clock on the far wall. "He was due back five minutes ago."

"Oh, terrific," Minerva said with a groan. "How do we explain this to him?"

"Leave that to me," Dumbledore said. He indicated a stack of papers on his desk. "Would you mind correcting your class's test? I meant to do it, but the fifth-years took longer than I expected."

"Of course. Where's the answer key?"

"I never use an answer key. If you feel the need for one, just use your test." He planted a quick kiss on her cheek and then glided away.

Minerva watched him go, then touched the spot on her cheek that he kissed. It was still tingling. She was so thankful they'd worked out their problems. The most difficult part may still lie ahead, but at least they would have each other and face it together.

* * *

Dumbledore found the headmaster in his office, reading a stack of papers. For a moment, the Transfiguration instructor feared Dippet had discovered the _Daily Prophet_ article about Hogwarts, but relaxed when he saw that the papers were single-sheets and only printed on one side. Dippet looked up from them to acknowledge Dumbledore. "Ah, Albus. Bueno verle." 

Dumbledore spoke many languages, but Spanish was not one of them. He blinked and wrinkled his brow. "Pardon?"

"I'm sorry," Dippet said, shaking his head. "I seem to have forgotten where I am. It's good to see you, Albus."

"What are you reading?" Dumbledore enquired.

"Catching up on the quarterly report from the governors," Dippet answered. "My attentions, regrettably, have been diverted to other subjects since first receiving this."

"As all of ours have," Dumbledore said, pondering whether or not now was really the best time to inform Dippet of the situation.

Dippet set the papers down and looked directly at Dumbledore. "I know you didn't come here to make small talk. What's troubling you?"

"There was another attack on the school," Dumbledore began, "in the form of libel. They've marked the school as unsafe, the students as treacherous, the staff as helpless, and you as a fugitive. We've been doing as much damage control as we can, but it's not enough. The school's reputation may be forever tainted."

Dippet's face became very grim. "I will not allow that," he said quietly, but sternly. "This school, which has stood for a thousand years, will not crumble under a few choice words. We must make the public see that."

"I should not have killed Grindelwald," Dumbledore mused. "The truth died with him."

"You did not mean to kill him, Albus, but that cannot be changed. Just because a solution is not apparent does not mean that one doesn't exist."

_Always a Ravenclaw, thinking analytically,_ Dumbledore thought. He could think similarly when called upon, but he was better at seeing the big picture rather than dealing with the pieces that made it up on a case-by-case basis. That was why he and Dippet worked well together – their different thinking processes maintained balance at Hogwarts.

Dippet sighed, looked down at the papers, then looked back up at Dumbledore again a beat later. "And Indira? Dare I ask?"

Dumbledore didn't dare answer.

Dippet sighed again and drummed his fingers against the surface of his desk for a few moments. "May I see the article?"

Dumbledore produced the article from inside his robe and levitated it over to Dippet. "There's more," the deputy headmaster said as Dippet began to read. "We don't believe it was really Neil Stone who was behind the attacks."

Dippet couldn't help noticing Dumbledore's repeated use of the word "we" and yet no elaboration on who "we" were. "What makes you think that?" Though Neil Stone certainly didn't meet the profile of anyone they would have pinned the attacks on, the unfortunate circumstance of being a blood relative of Grindelwald did not work in the dead young man's favor.

"If it _was_ him, then the truth would have been printed, not this," Dumbledore said. "Grindelwald wanted Indira dead, and whoever provided a means for him to enter Hogwarts must have certainly shared the same sentiments. By exposing and attacking her like this, they're continuing his work."

A chill ran up the headmaster's spine, and he gave a shudder as he realized where Dumbledore was going with this. "You think she's still in danger."

"Yes. And I believe someone else is, too."

This time, it was the _absence_ of the word "we" that caught Dippet's attention. "Who?"

Dumbledore's stomach tied itself in a knot as he prepared to say the name. Not even she knew he thought she was in danger. "Minerva McGonagall."

"Albus…"

"She is the _only_ one on our side who knows the whole truth," Dumbledore said fervently. "It may remain locked in her mind forever, or it may emerge at any time. If I were the enemy, I would take no chances with her."

"Be careful, Albus," said Dippet. "Your friendship with that girl has raised quite a few eyebrows in the past. The last thing any of us need right now is for someone to suspect you and her are getting too close."

Dumbledore had the slightest fear that Dippet suspected something, and figured the safest option would be to steer away from that subject immediately.

Fortunately, Dippet did it for him. "I will personally write to the _Daily Prophet_. If necessary, I will refer them to my caretaker at San Cliodne for proof of my admittance and treatment. The stronger we stand together behind the truth, the greater chance it has to overshadow the lies." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "There is one other who could help us, but I doubt it will be easy to persuade her."

* * *

"Absolutely not."

That was all Indira Nay had to say to Armando Dippet's proposal.

"Indira, please," Dippet pleaded as she walked to the opposite end of the living area of her chambers. "You can't hide like this forever."

She stopped when she reached the far wall, then turned around and faced him. "Oh, yes I can," she replied. "Why can't they just let it go?"

"Innocent people are dead because they stood between Grindelwald and you," Dippet said. He pondered telling her Dumbledore's suspicions about Neil Stone's innocence, but then decided it would be better to not let her know there was a chance her attacker was still at large. There was no need to add to her burden.

Indira sighed. "What would you have me do, Armando? The truth is out and yet people refuse to believe it."

"I know, I know; leave that to me," said Dippet. "Hogwarts needs you to stand by it and remain strong.

She began to walk back toward him again. "And you?"

He had a feeling where she was going with this, but in case it was wrong, he decided he should play dumb as long as possible. "I need your help in aiding the school on its path to recovery from this tragedy."

"Of course." She was now standing beside his wheelchair, but facing the opposite direction he was. "I will do whatever I must." She let out a heavy sigh and covered her face with her hands. "This is all my fault…"

"It is not!" Dippet insisted. "How could you think that?"

"I do not _think_, Armando, I _know_," she replied. "If it were not for me, Grindelwald would never have set his sights on Hogwarts."

That was probably true, but she could not be held at fault for that. "This was not of your making, Indira," he said. "He could not have been stopped. And in some ways, we can even find relief in this event. Grindelwald is dead now – he can never harm another person. The wizarding world _was_ at war, and although the casualties of war are sad, all are for a greater cause."

"I have seen and known more suffering in twenty years than most ever do in their lifetimes," Indira said quietly. "The path to happiness is paved with despair."

He didn't like where it sounded she was going with this. "Indira…"

He reached over and touched her on the arm. She dropped her hands and looked at him. His hand slid down the length of her arm as it was lowered, and found her hand. He intended to pull it away, but she was holding on to it. "I accepted long ago that I would never find true happiness," she said, and turned her head toward him, "but if by my pain others can find solace, then so be it."

That was probably the most un-Slytherin thing he'd ever heard someone from that house say.

A glint of anger flashed in her green eyes for a moment, and she said, "But if anyone ever _dares_ dishonor the memory of my family as they did in that horrible newspaper article, they will pay for it in blood."

_And the Slytherin emerges again_, he thought, though he could hardly blame her. The Rahminis had, after all, hailed from a culture that placed an incredibly high value on family and honor.

The anger faded quickly and was replaced by sadness. "Armando, do you know what the happiest moment in the last twenty years of my life was?"

He didn't, and nor did he expect the answer she gave him.

"The night Grindelwald came here, when we kissed on top of the Astronomy tower."

Dippet's stomach gave a jolt, and he involuntarily gripped her hand harder.

"I have thought about that event many, many times since it happened," she said.

Fearfully, he asked, "Did you ever wish anything came of it?"

"Yes," came her whispered reply.

They looked at each other for a long time after that, neither speaking, and barely breathing as they absorbed the other's presence. Both felt as though a great weight had been lifted, and yet at the same time, new feelings of confusion arose, as neither had been in this sort of situation before, and they didn't know how to proceed.

It was Dippet who eventually made the next move. "I think being away from Hogwarts might help you."

She sighed and shook her head. "No. That's running away. I'd rather finish out the year before I leave."

"I don't mean it like that," he said quickly. "I mean… for a weekend or so. In ten days, I must return to Spain, and I would like you to come with me."

Indira studied him for a moment, then gave her answer. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I would like that very much."


	26. In which Indira stakes her claim

**Note**: Partial nudity and adult situations later on. If you think that might bother you, consider this your warning.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Six: In which Indira stakes her claim 

- April 15, 1945 -

* * *

The small house was perched on the edge of cliff on the outskirts of the Muggle city of Tarragona, Spain. Two hundred feet below its modest deck, the blue-green waves of the Mediterranean Sea broke against the rocks lining the base of the cliff. A cool breeze ran through the air, carrying the sea-scent on its wings and filling the lungs of the two individuals standing next to the house's front door. 

Indira Nay inhaled the rich sea air and let it out slowly. "It's beautiful."

Leaning heavily on his cane, Armando Dippet tapped out a pattern on the door with his wand. "Yes, I know," he said. He finished the pattern and placed his hand on the doorknob. It turned, and he pushed the door open. "After my father died, I didn't take too kindly to the idea of coming here, but the land quickly won me over."

They went inside, and Indira's eyes performed a quick assessment of their surroundings. The large main room served as both a kitchen and living area, with half being devoted to each. There were two doors on the wall to the left as one came inside, leading, Dippet told her, to the bathroom and bedroom. A large glass door opposite the main entrance led to the deck.

"This is it?" Indira asked.

Dippet nodded. "This is it." He motioned for her to go in and sit down.

Indira walked over to a green couch in the living area in front of a large fireplace and sat down, still gazing around at the room in wonder. "It's perfect." She found the small house strangely comforting. Michael and Catherine Nay were very well-to-do and lived in a house far too large for just two people, and the Rahmini mansion was comparable to a royal palace. Her only other home, Hogwarts, was substantially larger than the other two put together. She liked the feeling of closeness and security here. It would be impossible for an enemy to hide in here, and if she needed him for any reason, her companion would not be far away.

Dippet wobbled over to an armchair next to the couch and sat down, taking a few minutes to catch his breath before saying anything. "It could get a little small for two people, but I only lived here during holidays, so it was hardly ever anything but just right for us." He ran his finger along the surface of the armchair. It was clean. "Excellent; Raquel told me they would send people to make the cottage inhabitable again," he said, mostly to himself.

Indira stiffened. "Who?"

"The woman who has been assigned to my case," Dippet explained. "You'll see her when we go to San Cliodne tomorrow. She is an excellent caretaker; very skilled in the healing arts, and a kind person as well."

"I am glad to hear that," Indira said coolly.

He recognized the tone, and he didn't like it. "What?" he asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," she innocently replied.

He didn't believe her, but didn't press the subject. "You may take the bedroom; I will sleep out here on the couch."

"Oh no you will not," she insisted. "You are in no fit state to be sleeping on couches."

"I'll be fine, Indira," he said. "I always slept out here when I lived here."

"You are not a teenager anymore, Armando Dippet," she reminded him. "You are an eighty-year-old man who was severely injured while saving the life of a woman who is far more trouble than she's worth. You will sleep in the bedroom or I will jinx you."

He stared at her for a few moments, dazed. "As you wish."

Indira gave a quick, precise nod, and then suddenly became very interested in her hands, which were resting in her lap. "So… this hospital… they take care of people with injuries magic cannot cure?"

"Exactly," Dippet said. "For cases like mine, they may use magic to aid in the process, but the affliction cannot be solely cured with magic. There are few of them in the world; there is only one other in western Europe – in France – but I chose to come here because San Cliodne has the finest reputation, and it is so close to my home."

"And what is it they are having you do?"

"Physical therapy."

"It sounds painful."

"It is."

Her expression darkened, and before she could say anything in reply, Dippet quickly added, "But it's worth it. Raquel sent me a letter a few days ago saying I was progressing better than they anticipated, and I should be able to walk without the use of a cane in as little as two months. In one year, it will be as though it never happened."

"It _shouldn't_ have happened," Indira said. "The next time you are faced with a situation like that, just let me die."

Dippet reached over and gripped her hands. "Indira," he said, and she looked at him, "do you _honestly_ believe he would have stopped at you? He figured you were as good as dead after he blew up the wall, and then he continued to fight Minerva McGonagall. And when Albus arrived – the brother of his old enemy – he became Grindelwald's sole concern. _Let it go_. The past cannot be changed, and there has already been too much suffering on his account."

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's just… it's been so long since I've genuinely cared about someone. He killed my family and destroyed the one who took me in. He penetrated my only sanctuary, endangered my students and colleagues – people I respected – and then nearly killed you. If he had…"

She couldn't finish the thought and looked away from him. Dippet, however, had other ideas. He leaned in toward her, touched the side of her face with one of his hands, and turned her gaze back to him. "And he is not here to hurt us any more."

The corners of her lips twitched upward into a fleeting smile. It would still be many, many years before she could put last month's horrific events behind her – if she ever did – but she knew he would be there to aid her every step of the way.

* * *

- April 16, 1945 -

* * *

Indira Nay had met two people in her entire life whom she disliked from the moment she set eyes on them. The first was Erich Rainier. The second was Raquel Ramirez.

Indira didn't know exactly what it was about the Spanish woman waiting in the lobby of the Hospital de San Cliodne that triggered the negative feelings. There was nothing bloodthirsty and psychotic about her, as there had been with Grindelwald, but something told Indira that this woman was dangerous to her. There was just something about her kind smile, the confidence in her stance, the way her thick accent gave her voice a delightfully melodious tone, and how her eyes seemed to shine more when she laid them on Armando Dippet that made Indira feel threatened. Indira hated feeling threatened, and she immediately hated Raquel for triggering it.

"Buenos dias, Armando," she said as she crossed the lobby toward them.

"Buenos dias, Raquel," he returned with a smile. Indicating Indira, he added in English, "This is Indira Nay, a colleague of mine at Hogwarts."

Indira suddenly felt uncomfortably tall. Dippet was in his wheelchair again, and Raquel was on the short side to begin with; it felt as though her height compared to the two of them was drawing all eyes to her.

"Indira, this is Raquel Ramirez, my caretaker," said Dippet.

"Good morning, Professor Nay," said Raquel, and held out her hand.

Indira acknowledged Raquel with a curt nod and looked away.

Raquel looked mildly surprised, but expressed no desire to investigate Indira's behavior. She instead focused all of her attention on Dippet. "We'd better get started, Armando," she said. "We have a full schedule ahead of us."

"When will we be finished?" he asked.

"We should be done at four o'clock," Raquel answered.

Indira wished she had a Time Turner.

"Excellent," said Dippet. He smiled at Indira. "Then I suppose we shall see you then."

"Yes." Indira avoided meeting his gaze and glared at Raquel out of the corner of her eye. "Yes, we shall."

Four o'clock came and went, and Dippet and Raquel did not return to the lobby. At six minutes past four, Indira could no longer concentrate on the book she was reading, so she put it down and glared at the large clock in the corner of the room. Seven past four. Eight past four. And still they did not come.

At nine minutes and thirty-four seconds past four, a beaming Dippet walked into the lobby, leaning heavily on both his cane and Raquel for support. Raquel looked very happy as well; happier, Indira felt, than she should. As a teacher, Indira could understand being proud when a student did well, but Raquel and Dippet reminded her more of the day she walked in on Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall embracing each other after Minerva's first Animagus transformation. Raquel acted as though she and Dippet were old friends, and judging from what Dippet told her before, it seemed he returned at least some of these friendly feelings. What really got to Indira, though, were the obviously _more_ than friendly feelings harbored by Raquel Ramirez.

Indira was well acquainted with the look on Raquel's face. It was the same look worn by Kiura Kadish whenever Halo Pokeli was in the room for the three years leading up to their eventual marriage. Dippet was not giving Raquel the look Halo gave to Kiura, but then again, it was almost a year before Halo noticed – and both he and Dippet were both of the supposedly astute house of Ravenclaw. Indira scowled. Who did that woman think she was? Raquel was obviously quite taken with Dippet, and Indira, who had not felt jealousy in years, knew she had to do something. It was time to remind Dippet where – she hoped – his heart truly lied.

Indira stood up, leaving her book on the chair beside hers, and glided over to Raquel and Dippet. She felt a small surge of satisfaction when Dippet's face lit up at the sight of her. "I take it this means good news?" she asked, plastering on a sickeningly sweet smile that was meant mostly for Raquel.

"It means very good news," the beaming Dippet answered. "It means that within a few days, I may not need the wheelchair anymore."

"He's been progressing remarkably well," said Raquel. "My guess is that Laura Tyburski used some sort of potion that stopped the progression of the brain damage, perhaps even began to reverse it."

"Here, lean on me," Indira said, and situated herself between Dippet and Raquel. Raquel stepped away quickly, looking mildly taken aback. Indira was a good six inches taller than Raquel, and she didn't hesitate to look down on her competition and narrow her eyes menacingly. The more uneasy Raquel looked, the more pleased Indira felt.

"Hector should be along in a moment with your wheelchair, Armando," Raquel said.

Indira allowed Dippet only enough time to thank her before commanding his full attention. "Will we be going back to Tarragona now?"

"Yes, if you like," was Dippet's reply. He had no desire to stay in Barcelona; he wasn't fond of large cities.

"I do," said Indira. In a softer voice, she added, "I don't like this place." Her response was completely true, and it had very little to do with Raquel Ramirez. Hospitals reminded her of her youth and all the time she spent in them during the months following her escape from Grindelwald.

Dippet realized what she must be thinking and immediately felt bad for asking her to come to the hospital with him in the first place. "I won't ask you to come tomorrow."

"No," she said firmly, and cast a quick glance at Raquel before making eye contact with Dippet and continuing. "I want to." She touched her hand to his cheek and then let it fall to his shoulder. "For you."

Dippet sensed a hidden motive for her actions, but felt it would be better to question her alone. At least part of her seemed genuinely interested in his well-being at the moment, so he went along with it. Giving Raquel his attention, he said, "We shall see you tomorrow, then. Thank you, Raquel."

"Good-bye," Raquel said, looking straight at Indira.

Indira responded by shooting Raquel her infamous glare of death, a look that had sent many a weaker soul in the opposite direction as quickly as possible. It worked, but not quite like Indira hoped it would: before leaving, Raquel threw an I'm-on-to-you look her way and then vanished without another word.

* * *

Dippet didn't get around to approaching Indira about her behavior at the hospital until much later that night. Upon returning to Tarragona, she'd taken out some papers that needed grading, and he helped her. When that was done, she helped him walk outside onto the deck, and they stood and watched the stars come out over the sea as the sun set behind them. Every once in a while, such as when she was shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her hand would brush against his. He suspected she was doing it by accident, but regardless, it made him very aware of how close together they were standing.

This whole ordeal was very frustrating for Dippet – not his injury and the subsequent treatment, but Indira's actions. Had they not established the fact that they both wanted to pursue a relationship ten days ago? Why hadn't they taken any more action? Until yesterday, it had almost seemed like she was no longer interested… and then he mentioned Raquel Ramirez. What in the world could prompt Indira to act like she had? As soon as the thought entered his head, Dippet thought of a possible answer. Could Indira perhaps be… jealous?

The notion was laughable. What reason would Indira have to be jealous of Raquel, or of anyone for that matter? Surely she must know that he only had eyes for her, and even if he didn't, Raquel certainly wasn't interested. Just in case, though, he should probably make sure. Hopefully, they would be able to figure out where they stood as well.

He waited for the right moment to begin his interrogation, a moment where she seemed to be relaxed and comfortable. The moment arrived just before twilight. They were standing very close now; the back of her left hand was touching the back of his right, and she was starting to rest her head on his shoulder. It was now or never – or, in other words, before he lost his nerve. "Indira?" he whispered.

She angled her head toward him. "Yes? Are you all right? Can you still stand?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," he insisted. "It's you I'm concerned about."

"Me?" she said incredulously. Some strands of hair had come loose from the low bun she had it pinned in and were now being whipped around her face by the wind. She put on her most innocent expression as she smoothed back the offending strands. "Whatever for?"

"You seemed to be acting strangely at the hospital," Dippet explained.

"I don't like hospitals," she said matter-of-factly and turned her head back toward the horizon. "I thought – I'd _hoped_ – that I would have been able to handle it, but I was wrong."

She wasn't biting. He'd have to try a more direct approach. "You seemed to be acting strangely last night, when I first mentioned Raquel Ramirez."

Indira looked like she'd just been stung, and she shot her companion a sharp look. "What are you implying, Armando Dippet?"

"I am merely wondering if your unusual behavior is in any way linked to Raquel."

"Of course it's not," Indira said hotly. "What on _earth_ would make me uncomfortable around such a kind, charming, clever woman, whom you speak so highly of and who _clearly_ fancies you? I don't know, Armando, I _just_ don't know." She turned away from him and stormed back inside the house.

_Well, THAT was the wrong way to do it_, Dippet said, feeling no satisfaction from being right on his hunch. He still had one more card to play, though, and he hoped this time he'd be lucky.

"I don't know, Indira," he called loudly. He knew she could hear him. "Why _would_ you?"

She reappeared in the doorway and walked straight up to him. "I can't stand it, knowing that woman is with you and helping you and trying to take you away from me."

"Raquel is _not_ trying to-"

"Yes, she is," Indira interrupted, "and I will _not_ let her come between us."

Dippet took her hand and stroked her fingers with his thumb. "_Is_ there an 'us', Indira?"

"That would depend on you," she said firmly. "Am I the woman you want, or is she?"

He let go of her hand, took her face in both of his hands, and pulled it toward him. Their lips met, and he kissed her deeply. When they pulled apart, he said, "I hope to _never_ hear you say something like that again."

* * *

Now that things had been cleared up, the remainder of the night went well, at least by his definition. They went back inside, where she made tea and he started a fire the Muggle way, with matches, and then they rested in each others' arms on the couch, drinking tea and watching the flames as they grew and engulfed the wood. After a time, they decided it would be in their best interest to go to bed, as Dippet had another long day of physical therapy ahead of him.

Indira helped him walk into the bedroom, and they sat down on the bed together. She didn't seem too keen on leaving just yet, and he certainly didn't mind; he could easily keep his arms around her all night. She'd been strangely silent for most of the time they were in the living area, and he guessed there was something on her mind. He knew she knew he would listen if she wanted to talk about it, so he waited for her to make the first move.

"I've always thought you were very handsome," she said suddenly.

"Thank you," he said, smiling awkwardly. This must be his lucky day for guessing; her comment sounded like a lead-in to a more serious topic.

She nodded. "I've always looked up to you, too. This whole thing between us… it feels so overwhelming."

"_You're_ overwhelmed?" he asked with a grin. "Here I am, an eighty-year-old man who had all but given up on finding someone, and here you are, a young, strong, beautiful woman who could have any man she wishes. I don't know why you chose me, Indira, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't glad you did."

She stood up and walked a few feet away, her back to him. "I need to show you something," she said quietly, briefly glancing at him over her shoulder. "This isn't easy for me to do, but… you need to see."

She unpinned her hair and shook it loose as she let it fall down. It was long, reaching to her hips, and very thick. She divided it into two sections and pulled it in front of her. The next thing he knew, her robes had dropped to her waist, and she was standing there with her back to him completely nude from the waist up.

There was, however (to his slight displeasure), nothing erotic about seeing Indira Nay half naked. He could instantly see what it was she was talking about, and that was scars. Her back was covered with them. They were faded with age, but still clearly visible, and no doubt she had endured great pain receiving them. There was no doubt in his mind as to who could have done it.

"Grindelwald?" he said. It was more of a statement than a question.

She nodded and sat down again, still keeping her back to him. "I've never shown anyone this, not even the Nays. Somehow I think they always knew there must be visible scars, but they never saw them with their own eyes."

"My God, Indira, what did he do to you?" Dippet whispered, mostly to himself. He began tracing the faded disfigurements with his fingertips, and as he did so, found himself studying her body more closely. Her back would have been quite lovely if not for the heavy scarring; her skin was a few shades lighter than her face and arms, and her muscles and bone structure were well-defined.

"Last Christmas, Halo asked me why I kept my hair so long if it hurts like it does," Indira said. Dippet had often wondered that himself; not only was her hair long, it was quite thick, and consequently very heavy. "This is why; so if I ever found myself wearing something that might show my back, I could let my hair down and hide it."

She half-twisted her torso so she could look at him, and it took a great deal of control for him to keep his eyes from going places they shouldn't. She was a very beautiful woman. He'd always known that, but now, with her before him as she was, he became more aware of it than ever.

"Thank you for showing me," Dippet said.

"No," she said, "thank _you_. You're the only man I could ever truly…"

_Is she going to say it?_ he wondered. His heartbeat accelerated with the anticipation.

"… trust," she finished.

_Close enough_.

And then he was kissing her. He had no idea how it happened – for all he knew, it could have been her that started it – but it was happening, and neither one of them showed any desire to stop. He leaned back and took her along with him, though it almost seemed like she was the one doing the guiding, and their kissing grew more intense. He could sense her desires, for they were the same as his own, but, considering her history, he didn't think it would be the wisest idea to rush into anything. His physical condition could be easily overcome, but her emotional scarring was much deeper than the ones on her back.

He stopped kissing her, and she lifted her face a few inches away from his. "Indira," he said, caressing her face, "are you sure about this?"

"Quite sure," she said, and resumed kissing him.

They made love for hours: the first time for him, the first consensual for her. And it would not be the last.


	27. In which uncertainties are resolved

Mark my words, I am GOING to finish this thing before I graduate from college. (I'm in the middle of winter break right now, and with any luck I'll have another chapter done before I go back to school) Hopefully all my readers haven't died of old age… for those of you still around, here's the next chapter!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Seven: In which uncertainties are resolved

- April 17, 1945 -

* * *

Indira Nay awoke to the feeling of warm sunlight on her eyelids and the presence of another person. Both startled her, and she spent a few moments wondering where she was before it came back to her. She was in Tarragona, a small Spanish city near Barcelona, and her head was resting on the bare chest of the man who'd brought her here, Armando Dippet. She smiled, closed her eyes, and impulsively gave his torso a squeeze. A moment later, she felt a kiss on her forehead and familiar hands stroking her shoulders. Her smile grew wider. How she wished they could relive the previous night and stay in this moment forever: a time where they were the only two people in the world and all that mattered. She knew, though, that it could not happen. They were here in Spain for a reason, and that reason was not to be with each other.

"Are we late yet?" she asked lazily, stretching her arms as she did so.

A small smile flickered across his lips. "Almost," he said. "Indira, you don't have to come if you don't-"

"But I do," she insisted. "Please… I don't expect you to understand, but…"

He smiled gently and kissed her again. "I'm so thankful you're here," he said. "I can't believe you're not a dream"

"_I _can't believe you keep coming back to me."

"Well, Indira, that's what you do when you're…"

Their eyes met, and though the rest of the phrase was stuck somewhere between his stomach and collarbone, the meaning was there.

"Late?" she offered.

"Damn," he mumbled, throwing off the sheets and using a summoning charm to bring his cane over.

As he stepped out of the bed, Indira spoke the same word under her breath in an impressed tone.

It was loud enough for him to hear. "What?" he asked suspiciously, turning his head around.

She was beaming, and blushing slightly. "Nice bum."

* * *

"You're late." Raquel Ramirez glanced up from her clipboard long enough only to make the comment about Dippet's tardiness when he was wheeled into the physical therapy wing at San Cliodne.

"I'm sorry," he said, and reached for his cane. "I… didn't get much sleep."

"Because of Indira?"

Dippet turned his head toward her so quickly that some vertebrae in his neck popped. He uttered a series of barely-distinguishable syllables and rubbed his neck, hoping his face didn't look as warm as it felt.

Raquel smiled knowingly. "I'm more perceptive than you give me credit for, Professor Dippet." She set the clipboard down on the counter and walked over to him. "I saw the way you two looked at each other yesterday. And the 'I am going to kill you' look she gave me."

"Raquel, I want to apologize for that," said Dippet. "Indira can be… well… 'difficult' is putting it mildly."

"I gathered that." The Healer walked over to him and extended her hand. "On your feet."

He took her hand, and a quick, strong pull from Raquel an instant later, he was on his feet and leaning on the cane for support. He winced involuntarily when his legs were forced to bear the weight of his body; they were still weak and caused him pain whenever used.

"She is beautiful, though," Raquel commented, returning to the counter to retrieve her clipboard.

"Yes, she is," Dippet said dreamily. Then he snapped to attention and quickly said, "I mean… uh…"

"You _mean_," Raquel said firmly, "she is beautiful."

She had him trapped. Women were good at that, he'd noticed. "Yes, she is, but she's also cold and distant. Every time I think there's a chance for us, something happens that makes me wonder if I should even keep trying."

"Then why do you?"

"I thought you were my _physical_ therapist."

"I am." She went over to the far end of the room and put her hands on her hips. "Please walk over to me; I need to observe your posture."

Fifteen feet was quite far when one had to endure excruciating pain with every tiny step. He was able to push through it, though; he knew the discomfort was temporary, but even more importantly, he was _walking_. It was a success – a difficult, agonizing success, but a success just the same.

Dippet kept up the conversation for two reasons; one, because it distracted him from how badly it hurt to walk, and two, because he was curious as to where she was going with this. After surviving Indira's interrogation last night, he wasn't afraid of anything Raquel might say. "I don't know. There are a number of factors," he said in response to her question. "I think I initially justified getting close to her because I was already so deeply involved in… her life."

"The Madeline Rahmini story?"

He stopped, having reached her, but the associated shock would have stopped him anyway. "How did you…"

"It wasn't hard to figure out; I just had to remember where I'd heard the name 'Indira Nay' before. Surely you did not believe the story wouldn't reach all of Europe by now?"

"No, I suppose not." Dippet recalled some of Indira's words from the night before concerning Raquel, and he felt this had to be cleared up before he could concentrate on the work that needed to be done. "Raquel… there is something else."

"Your hip position is good, but your shoulders are slumping. Try it again, and this time, keep your shoulders square." She crossed over to the other side of the room and wrote something on her clipboard.

"Indira seems to think…" He wasn't sure if he should be direct or try to approach the subject in a more tactful way.

"To think what?" Raquel asked. "Shoulders!"

Dippet forced his shoulders back, which his torso fully upright but shot pain down to his toes. Through a cringe, he said, "She thinks you fancied me."

He expected Raquel to laugh or immediately start denying it. She did neither. "Her suspicions are not wholly incorrect," the Healer said quietly. "I won't lie to you, Armando. I _did_ fancy you – briefly."

He stopped walking.

"Keep walking."

He resumed walking, and she continued to speak. "Call it a crush, if you will. Normally, I am very good at professionalism; I do not overstep any bounds with my patients. With you, though, I sensed potential for friendship."

He could understand how she came to that, for he'd felt the same thing: an almost instant connection. He even found himself thinking that if he wasn't so obsessed with Indira, Raquel might make a suitable partner. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It wasn't your fault, and believe me, I feel nothing for you that would put me at risk for losing my job." She smiled reassuringly at him, then added, "I only hope that girl knows what she's got before it is too late."

_So do I_, Dippet thought. _So do I._

_

* * *

_

_I need to see you. Meet me in the Transfiguration classroom as soon as you get this._

The note was neither addressed nor signed, but Minerva McGonagall knew both. She also knew the matter in question was of the utmost importance – why else would he insist on a private meeting with her in the middle of the day? – though she did not know to what it could pertain. The damage control she and Albus Dumbledore had been doing in response to the _Daily Prophet_ article had, to the best of her knowledge, been working. The students had stopped talking about it and there had been no follow-up article. Owls had been received from parents wishing to withdraw students from the school, but those had been dealt with by the house heads and no one had yet been sent home.

The other alternative was that the matter was personal.

Minerva feared what it might be in that case. Lately her professor-turned-friend-turned-lover had been acting strangely. He would make eye contact with her quickly and in the most random places – from the classroom to the hallway – and then look away just as fast. Their conversations were short and professional, hovering on awkward. They had been alone together once in the last week, where they had spoken little and kept each other at a distance. Minerva could partly understand why – after all, this was a difficult time for all of them – but she couldn't help wondering if he still loved her or not.

She was standing outside the door to the Transfiguration classroom with the note in hand, staring at the handle, wondering if she should reach out and pull it open. Fear gripped her and her mind began making up scenarios. What if she lost him, here and now, after all they had endured together? What if he considered their relationship a mere fling that had no chance of standing the test of time? What if this was about the difference in their ages, and he was letting her go because he didn't feel they would have much time together? Minerva knew Dumbledore wasn't young by any standards, but he had a good sixty years still left in him. She would rather spend half a lifetime with him and then be alone than to never be with him at all. She knew _she_ was still young, but she also knew that she loved him, deeply and with her whole heart. And she would never stop loving him.

And she would certainly not let him go that easily after what their relationship had just been through.

Filled with new determination, Minerva folded the note into fourths, slipped it into her pocket, and opened the door. The room was dark save for a few candles near the teacher's desk, and they cast a dim light on Albus Dumbledore and the area around him. "Seal the door," he instructed in a low voice.

She closed the door behind her and performed a quick charm to seal it. "Albus, may I ask what this is about?" she asked as she walked up the aisle between the desks toward him.

"Something has come to my attention, a matter of great urgency that must be addressed at once," he said. The flame dancing on the wicks of the candles was reflected in his eyes, enhancing their already desperate gaze that gripped Minerva's heart.

"And… what does this matter concern?" she asked fearfully, stepping up next to him.

He placed his hands on her upper arms and began stroking them with his thumbs. "It concerns… you and I."

She felt her knees go weak and fought to remain standing.

"I have reason to believe Professor Dippet suspects something," Dumbledore said.

"How?" she squeaked.

Dumbledore shook his head. "I don't know," he replied. "He knows we're close – that much is hardly a secret – but… this is my fault, I know it is." He stepped away from her and ran a hand through his auburn hair restlessly. "Mentioned your name one too many times… if only Indira Nay hadn't seen us that day in January…"

"Albus?" she asked cautiously, and touched him on the arm.

He whirled around, seized the hand that touched him, and held it tightly. "We cannot do this any more, Minerva," he said. "These secrets… these lies… Hogwarts is in a delicate, desperate hour, and lying about the most primeval of human emotions only further weakens us from the inside."

"But we _can't_ come forward," Minerva said. "There would be no future for either of us!"

"You're right." With his other hand he caressed the side of her face. "Which leaves us with only one other choice."

A sharp pain stung her heart and eyes as she realized where this was going. Her worst fear was coming true: it was over.

He let go of her and took a few steps away. "I've been wondering how to put this," he said. "I knew it wouldn't be easy, but the most important choices in life never are."

She turned her head away from him so he wouldn't see the tears streaming down her face.

"Minerva, do you remember what happened exactly two months ago, in this very room?"

Her mind was in too much turmoil to remember anything that happened on a specific date that long ago, and even if it wasn't, she was too angry and confused to answer in a civilized fashion.

"Our first kiss."

_Albus_ _Dumbledore, you sadistic manticore, WHY are you bringing that up? _she thought bitterly.

"We must never speak of this, Minerva," Dumbledore said, turning around to face her. "We have to continue on with our lives as though nothing ever happened, for both our sakes."

"I… I understand," she choked.

"For the time being, at least."

_What the…_

"Minerva, telling the world about us might destroy us metaphorically, but if I were to leave you, it would _literally_ destroy me," he said. "If I so much as _think_ about leaving you, I want to die. I cannot imagine my life without you, and I don't plan on seeing it."

"Then… you want us to stay together?" Joy began to renew in her heart.

"More than anything in the world. All we have to do is keep this secret a little while longer, and then there will never again be a need." He reached for her hands and dropped to one knee. "Will you marry me?"

* * *

Tom Riddle was up to something.

That in itself was hardly a revelation. One thing or another was always unfolding inside the Head Boy's diabolical mind, but this was something darker and sinister than previous plots. Paul Garrett could tell, because normally Tom told him whether or not he was working on something. For the last few days, though, Tom had barely spoken to him. In fact, few people had even seen him outside of classes, and when they did, he was either in, on his way to, or coming from the library. Paul was tired of being kept in the dark. If Tom expected him to be an ally, he had damn well better start treating him like one.

Paul decided to start looking in the library. That seemed to be the best place to find Tom these days. Sure enough, there he was in the Restricted Section, hunched over a book he'd had to chain to a table. "Riddle," Paul whispered. When Tom didn't look up, he repeated himself, a little louder and more sharply. "Riddle!"

Tom nearly jumped, as though he'd been caught doing something he knew he shouldn't be – which, Paul hypothesized, was probably the case. "What do you want, Paul?"

"What are you doing?"

"Do we have to talk about this now, Paul?"

Paul glanced over his shoulder to make sure Peter Dorrenbacher, the strict librarian, was out of earshot. "Yes."

"Fine. I could use you, anyway." Tom unchained the book and slammed it shut before it had the chance to bite off his hand, then placed it back on the shelf. A cloud of dust rose up from the bookshelf as he slid it back into its place. Paul was able to read the title on the binding when the dust settled: _Magick_ _Moste Evile_. "Let's go."

They hurried out of the library, Paul taking three steps for Tom's every two to keep up with his friend's longer stride. "Where are we going?"

"Nay's office," Tom answered in a harsh whisper. "I've got to find something."

Paul wondered what could possibly be in Professor Nay's office that Tom had previously searched for in the library. "What?"

"I'll tell you later."

"You won't be able to get into her office. She seals it."

"I can break it. I've gotten into Turner's and Rose's offices before; how hard could Nay be?"

"Nay could make Turner tap dance on water if she was still alive and beat Rose in a duel blindfolded," Paul replied.

"So could I. Shut up and trust me."

Paul figured that was probably the safer option and did.

They continued in silence through the deserted corridors. Most people were outside enjoying the break in the weather, which had been rainy for several weeks, and the few they did pass in the halls were not acknowledged. When they arrived at the door to Nay's office, Tom told Paul to keep watch, knelt down, and pointed his wand at the lock.

Several long minutes passed. Paul occasionally glanced at Tom; his brow was furrowed and there were beads of sweat rolling down the sides of his face. Finally, he exhaled loudly and relaxed. "Stay here," Tom said, standing up and wiping his forehead. "I shouldn't be long."

He was wrong. Paul stood outside the door on pins and needles of anxiety for the large part of an hour before Tom stormed back into the hallway. The result of the search was obvious. "Now what?" Paul asked. "Let it go?"

"Never," Tom spat. He slammed the door and waved his wand at it. "Just… have to keep looking."

"What are you looking for? I can help you, Riddle!"

Tom looked at Paul for a long moment, and Paul could have sworn he could feel the other probing the edges of his thoughts. "No, Paul," said Tom. "This is something I have to do myself."

_Well, Riddle_, Paul thought as Tom turned away and began walking toward the Slytherin common room, _I am going to find out anyway_.

* * *

Late that night, armed with a lantern and the Invisibility Cloak they'd stolen from Minerva McGonagall, Paul forced his way into the Restricted Section. He located _Magick_ _Moste Evile_, took it off the shelf, and carefully placed it on the small table Tom had used earlier. Chains hanging down from the four corners of the table rose into the air with a wave of his wand, and he clipped them to the corners of the book's binding. Paul waved his wand again, and the book opened, snarling softly but otherwise harmless. Though he didn't know what he was looking for, Paul had a feeling he'd know when he saw it.

He spent a good twenty minutes skimming the pages of the book, seeing a few things he found to be quite interesting, but didn't strike him as something Tom would have spent all this time and energy looking for. Then, he came to a page that was less dusty than the others, and Paul guessed it might have seen light recently – perhaps earlier today, even. And then he saw it: one sentence, toward the bottom of the page, so enigmatic and so potentially powerful that he knew this had to be what Tom was searching so desperately to learn more about. His heart pounded as he read it over and over, wondering what secret it held and how something could possibly be too evil to be no more than fleetingly mentioned.

_Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction…_


End file.
